


Through the Worlds

by cc1989



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:54:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 171,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2027538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cc1989/pseuds/cc1989
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma and Henry struggle to survive in a land filled with hungry zombies when two strangers from a different world show up, change everything and claim that Emma has forgotten who she is and has to save her parents from a threat across another realm. What will it take to get her memories back? Will it be in time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rule #1 - Cardio

**First time to post here on AO3, but here's a story I've been working on awhile. I'm gonna say this is an M rating for language and future adult themes.**  
TW - gore, violence towards zombies.

**March 31st 2013**

Rule number one in Zombieland New York is CARDIO. That's right. Cardio.

_**Rule # 1 - CARDIO** _

\- It's me, Emma Swan, ahem, I mean, Boston, writer extraordinaire, and I'll be sure to highlight the other rules as I go. I'm kidding about the extraordinaire part, the writing's awful, I know. But when there aren't many people left in the world, someone has to keep a record of what's happened, right? Right? Well, it sucks that it had to be me, but someone's gotta do it. My handwriting blows and this bundle of papers and moleskin notebooks is getting thick, but whatever. Back to the story?

Only the strong survive when the world goes to hell. Darwin's evolution. At least I think that's what Darwin said. With the birds, right? And that's what's happened. Not the birds, but . . . well anyway, the world has gone to absolute shit and there's nothing I can do about it. Except survive, that is. I don't know how, or where they came from exactly or if it started as a terrorist attack or whatever, but it's already passed the one year anniversary of zombies royally fucking up our lives day in and day out.

I do know some general information about these things: it's just like people said it would be, sort of like the TV shows said it would be. They're people, well, they  _were_ people, and those people were infected with this virus that spread down from northeast somewhere, even farther northeast than we are now in New York City. They decay slowly, and they only have their basic brain and brain-stem functions: hunger, movement and motor control, vision, hearing, and of course heart rate and breathing. As fast as regular people, they can run and jump, and they get especially pissed if they're being threatened.

They want to eat other people, or animals, whatever they can get really, they're not picky. But they are particular to brains, so I've heard. And in honor of all those fine people who are dead in the ground, or dead walking around who said this day would come, that Armageddon would strike us someday, singing "I told you so!" in their dead zombie voices, I came up with some rules for survival. Not only for us, but also for them. As a big, fat, middle finger symbol to where they can shove their "I told you so!".

Because  _they're_  dead. Or undead. And  _we're_  still here. And the rules help, by the way. They really do.

Just like one of my favorite movies. Well, back when there were movies and enough electricity to watch those movies, I had favorite movies. Well, we do have the solar power, but it's a rare occasion that we use it for watching a movie. Now I'm just satisfied to be alive and reasonably healthy. And I'm happy I have my son. He's the only thing that matters, the only reason I continue to even give a shit. Because he deserves his best chance at life, even if it's a life full of chopping off zombie people's heads and scrounging around for food and weapons throughout the city. He's the only reason I don't just go out and lie down in the street, yelling, "come on you fuckers, here's breakfast!" and just let them have at me.

And he's the only reason I've got this apartment all boarded up and reinforced like there's nuclear fallout on the way. It wasn't easy, believe me, getting my hands on some of this stuff, this reinforced steel on the door, that stack of riot shields, those piles of assault rifles and shotguns. No ma'am, it wasn't easy at all. And it's taken me most of this year to acquire all of it without getting my own head chopped off, or worse, bitten off by one of those zombies.

But anyway, here we are, me and Henry, sorry Bronx, he goes by Bronx these days, casually eating biscuits from a box and also canned soup. We cook everything either sparingly on the electric stove, or downstairs on the grill or here in the fireplace, just like they used to in the old days, or so I figure. I didn't pay much attention in history class, or any class for that matter growing up. I do understand a little physics, which is helpful. What I do really know how to do is survive on the streets, stealing if I have to and breaking in to places if the need arises and those skills have come in pretty handy so far.

Speaking of history class, and school for that matter, don't worry, I brought Bronx with me down to the Barnes and Noble, abandoned of course, except for a few walkers here and there, stumbling around the fiction section. He picked out plenty of books, and I even made sure he got a few textbooks as well. He was nice enough to grab me these notebooks and a couple books on survival and prepping; he's really the brains of the operation, if we're being serious here. The kid does seem to love to read. Who knows, maybe he'll learn something.

Not that it matters.

But don't tell him that. I know, I know, it's sort of a fatalist attitude, but after a year of this hell, it's hard to keep those thoughts buried. It's hard to hope that there will be any sort of civilization or learning community for him to get into if all of this chaos keeps up. Will there be any actual people left? Will he get to go to college someday? Or even high school?

He's staring at me, over his soup, which he's not slurping or drinking from the bowl or anything. The perfect little gentleman at only thirteen years old. So I smile at him, my own soup dribbling down my chin just a little, and that makes him laugh. Laughter is good. It's rare, few and far between, but it helps. It's one of the only things that helps. Besides the rules, of course.

That night, I toss and turn in my bed, right next door to Henry's with both of our doors open so we can hear each other. Just in case. It's not unusual for me to be tossing and turning. I'm normally worried about one thing or another, usually the zombie apocalypse that is currently ruining our lives. Our perfectly good lives. You know, I just so happened to be Big Apple Bailbonds' number one employee, dragging and wrestling in all kinds of criminals one way or another. And I did have my ways. It helps that I used to look nice. Used to.

Now I'm way too thin, so thin you can see my ribs and hip bones with my shirt off, sort of like the way the contestants on Survivor would look towards the second half of the show. I make sure Bronx gets most of the food, secretly of course. He's a growing kid, and he's  _always_  hungry. Always. So he gets the lion's share and I ignore my rumbling tummy. Not that I'm complaining. But anyway, I used to look better, with my hair done in curls down my back and a tight red dress and heels, when my hands weren't so damned calloused. I could lure in any man, like a black widow into her web, drawing them in and drawing them in and then BAM! hit em when they least expect it.

My hair now is sort of limp and still hangs down my back, but most of time it doesn't get washed, so I like to keep it up in a ponytail. Either that, or wrap a bandana around my hairline and call it good. Of course, dresses are off the table now. It's just comfortable jeans, cargo shorts if it's hot. And lots of tank tops. At least I've still got the arm muscles.

But that's not what I'm tossing and turning about. I could care less about my looks and what I'm wearing these days. What's keeping me from getting into my good sleep cycles are these damned dreams. It's one of those recurring dreams, the kind that you have every now and then and it's mostly the same every time. This one is like that, except it progresses a little more each time, takes me a little farther into this town. This really bizarre town that I don't think I've ever been to, but it really seems like I have.

There's this clock tower and it's stuck on 8:15, every time. And then the dream goes to several different places, sometimes over to the water, where there are ships and sailboats and fishing boats and seagulls, and then sometimes it goes to this tree with fruit on it. Other times, it takes me to what looks like a town hall and usually when this happens, I get sent to this room with a door. And that's all there is. Then I wake up. Every damn time.

* * *

**April 1st, 2013**

It's just getting light outside, the sun is peeking through my window, shining in my eyes and reminding me that another night has passed, another night we've survived, another night I haven't slept soundly. Swinging my legs over the side, I get up, trudge over to the side of my room and wash my face in the basin on the dresser. The water is tepid, sort of stale, but what can you do? The only partially running water we have is downstairs in the courtyard. My back cracks and protests as I bend over to pull on a pair of jeans and my boots, leaving on the loose tank I wore yesterday and slept in last night, tuck my nine millimeter into my waistband and head to the door.

I'm meeting Henry downstairs in the courtyard for breakfast. He's still asleep, lucky kid is able to sleep for hours at a time. Me on the other hand . . . not so much. I'll give him another hour or so and then wake him up. We're having leftover biscuits from last night. You know what I miss the most about life before zombies? Dairy products.

Milk with my cereal, cheese, ice cream, butter. God, butter. What I wouldn't give for a pat of butter on this biscuit. Maybe we should find a cow, or a goat.

Nah, too much work. Chickens wouldn't be so bad, though. I miss eggs too. Eggs fried in real bacon grease. God, I have to stop that. It's making me miserable.

On the bright side, Cheez whiz and velveeta seem to last forever, so those are some good ole American staples that are hard to find, but well worth it when you do. Maybe I'll look for some when I go on the run today.

It takes a good twenty seconds to undo all the locks and deadbolts I have on my steel reinforced door, but if it keeps both alive and dead people out, I'm all for letting that extra time go. Down three empty stories into the lobby, and I take a look around. Everything looks normal, nothing out of place. There are two exits on this floor, one in the front, another steel reinforced industrial style door, and the one I just came out of: the stairwell, which also leads down to the parking garage. That entrance to the street is gated and reinforced as well, and I've got three working vehicles down there, one of 'em's mine and the other two I hot-wired: the yellow bug, a pickup, and just a regular four door sedan. They all have about a half-tank of gas left in them that I try to use as sparingly as possible. We've also got two bicycles and a motorcycle, but that last doesn't get used much. It's way too loud and attracts all the walkers.

Anyway, I try to keep the entrances and exits as limited as possible, just in case we need to get away, but also because too many ways in could mean sort of a two-front battle, and that's not easy for only two people to defend. Up top in our apartment in fact, we've cleared all the lower floors from walkers and other dead bodies, and there are only two fire escapes on the outside of the building. Easy to get away, not so easy to get in to.

So I walk past the unused front desk and throw open the front door, stepping out into the courtyard and into the sunlight. It smells like vegetables and herbs at first from the small garden built on old shipping pallets directly in front of me, and then the wind just happens to be blowing my direction from the northwest and I get a whiff of the latrine. Ugh . . .

It's the best we can do, sort of like a port-a-potty. Not the best for smells, but I planted some lemongrass and lavender in containers around it, hoping to take some of the smell away.

Anyway, I hate to admit this, but you sort of get used to it. So I get on with my business and then wash up a little more at the solar shower. Now this was a cool invention. Basically just a gazebo type thing with black tubing coiled up on the roof. When you run water into the tube from one of the rain collection barrels, it sits there all day and heats up, leaving us with a few minutes worth of a warm shower. Not that we shower a whole lot, but it is nice every now and then.

To my left, there are several more rain collection barrels connected to gutters leading down from the roof, and we keep those around for extra water storage in case it doesn't rain. But New York gets plenty of rain, let me tell you.

And it's strange, I guess, that we haven't seen many alive people in the past few months, not since . . .well, anyway, not for a while now. People high-tailed it out of here when all hell broke loose. The ones that survived fled to the woods, to the suburbs, to places where the zombie population wasn't as intense. The walkers hide in the buildings and in the subway especially; we never go near the subway because of that. But if you're smart and you methodically and silently take out every walker you see, living in the city isn't so bad. There's plenty of stuff to scavenge, that's for sure.

And lucky for us, right before the outbreak, the Bronx had just started their emergence into the environmentally friendly scene and several buildings around here are outfitted with solar panels on the roof. Photo-voltaic cells to be exact, and they're perfect for what we needed. The batteries and inverters and switches were all in pretty good condition, just had to read up on how we could unhook it from the non-working grid and keep it solely focused on our apartment and the downstairs lobby and kitchen. It runs one small direct current freezer downstairs and our lights and electric stove upstairs.

But we only use the alternating current power at nighttime, besides the freezer of course because that makes for a more efficient system. It's nice not having to use it for heating water or heating our apartment, for that we just bundle up when it gets cold and open the windows and run a fan when it gets hot. On nights when we have a little extra power left in the battery, we pop a movie in the small TV and DVD player. For two hours of playing time, it's only about 350 watts. It's a rare treat. His favorite movie used to be Finding Nemo, but he always refused to watch the ending.

What he absolutely will not watch are the rest of the animated kid's movies. Like the Disney princesses and Lion King and Toy Story. And neither will I. Not because the princesses need saving and they're weak or anything like that, although sometimes that is the case; it's really more about the happily ever after business. And that spawned one of Henry's rules. You can always tell the difference between mine and Henry's rules. Anyway:

_**Rule #540 - NO FAIRYTALES** _

Because living like this is real. It's a real situation, and it hasn't been easy. It wasn't ever easy, really, for me. Growing up in foster care, floating from place to place without feeling like anyone ever really loved me pretty much eliminated all hopes of a happily ever after. Yeah, yeah. Sob story, I know. And Hen-Bronx hasn't had it easy either. I had him when I turned eighteen and still in prison for theft. Bronx's father, that bastard sperm donor, not only knocked me up, but also left me hanging out to dry with his stolen watches while he got the hell out of Dodge. Rotten son of a bitch. But I don't like to talk about that.

Back to the fairytales. Sometimes we even take it so far as to purposely destroy princess and other animated merchandise we happen upon. Target practice doesn't always have to be serious and business. It's actually soothing to shoot off the princess barbie's heads and stuffed animals and riddle their DVD boxes full of mostly-useless-for-killing-zombies .22 bullets and reusable arrows.

I guess I should explain the fact that I haven't been using first names. You've probably noticed, reader of my journals, that we've taken city names and use them as call signs if you will. Well, that's a painful story and it involves the death of people we had gotten to know pretty well, people who were our allies here in the city, friends even. It's not easy saying goodbye to people like that, and it's even worse when they turn into zombies and you're forced to kill them. Or unkill them. I don't know what to call it, it's all fucked up. The worst part is knowing they had a first name and a last name and family and a whole past and maybe a kitten or a gerbil and then all of a sudden they're undead, standing in front of you, ready to eat your brains, and there's nothing you can do about it except kill them. The worst part is you know their name. Something else I don't like to talk about.

So that's the next rule.

_**Rule #35 - NO FIRST NAMES** _

I picked the city of Boston as my name because I spent most of my early childhood there, bouncing around the system, before going to my last foster family in Oregon later on. Plus, Henry, I mean Bronx, and I lived there for all of his life until right before the apocalypse happened. We moved to New York after our apartment burned down. God, this is just a regular old series of unfortunate events in our lives, isn't it? And then pretty soon after we got here, the zombies started showing up and people started panicking and turning on each other and looting businesses and rioting in the streets and then finally most of them left. We stayed put, rode out the storm like a hurricane, and emerged when we could, looking for water and food and the like.

The kid, if you can imagine, does not like the Red Sox at all. Three guesses for the baseball team he roots for. That's right, the Yankees. Even though we live here, I still can't forgive him for it.

And speaking of the little traitor, with his hair all mussed and sleep still in his eyes, here he comes out the front door, yawning and stretching in the early sunlight. He smiles at me, and trudges on to the latrine as I cut open two biscuits for him, smearing what's left of our strawberry jam on top. I fix one for myself and sit down at the table we dragged from the lobby out next to the vegetable garden. When it's nice out, there's not much better than just sitting and relaxing in our little enclosure, looking up at the clouds going by and wishing life's circumstances were a little different.

When he comes out, he says good morning and thanks me as he stuffs half of the biscuit in his mouth, wiping away my earlier ponderings as to how he got to be such a fine young gentleman. I see myself in him now, crumbs falling all over his front and a big, dopey grin on his face, happy just to be eating.

"You look tired," he says in his half-squeaky, pubescent voice with his mouth full. All I can do is glare at him and give him the stink eye because I'm sure I do look tired, seeing as how I never get much sleep anymore.

"Was it the dream again?" Jesus, he's more observant than a damn reporter. I nod, finish off my biscuit and stand up, taking the few steps in between the table and the water barrels. The water makes a satisfying gushing sound when it flows from the orange cooler as I fill up my water bottle; it's the kind that fits in a little holder and goes around your shoulder, easy to transport.

"It's the weirdest thing," I start, sitting back down and handing the bottle over to him. He takes a few serious glugs, plops it down on the table, and goes back to finishing up his second biscuit. "Sometimes it's more vivid, and other times I can't really tell what's going on, but it's always the same town and there's always a door at the end."

"And the clock?"

I nod. "Yeah, the clock was stuck at 8:15 again. And it's cold there."

"And there are never any people who talk to you?"

"They're there, but I never see their faces. I catch glimpses of them turning around corners, always walking away from me."

"That is weird," he agrees, chewing thoughtfully, a little more civilized now that he isn't so ravenous. "Maybe you have anxiety?"

My eyebrow arches at him. Of course I have anxiety. We live in a world with zombies. "You been reading dream interpretation books or something?"

He shrugs, swallowing the last of his biscuit and wiping his hands on his jeans, which could probably use a good scrubbing, I note while not really caring. "I might've looked at one at the bookstore. Anyway, you going on the run today?"

"Yep. Anything else you think we need?"

Shaking his head, he doesn't make eye contact with me and I know exactly what he's thinking. He wants to go with me. But that's a no. Not a no, but a hell no. I just don't feel as safe when he's out there with me, not like I do when I know he's in here, safe behind these walls, with weapons and a walkie talkie and an escape route if he needs one. There's not always an escape route where I go.

"You sure you don't need a plus one?"

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, trying to get rid of my biggest fear. Of watching a crowd of walkers overtaking him while I'm stuck fighting off some other ones, helpless and desperate, watching him pushed to the ground and hearing his screams and pleading for me and I can't do anything about it. That fear is burned into my brain, though, and I'd just really rather he stayed here, even if it is nice to have someone watching my back out there.

"I'm good," I say steadily, looking at him now and waiting for him to look me in the eye. "You'll be okay here?"

"Always am," he says gloomily, but I'm not falling for his moping act. He's been out there enough times. He knows what it's like and knows that I want him here and I want him alive. But I know what his fears are too. He's afraid I won't come back if I leave. That I'll go one day and they'll get me and he'll be here all by himself. We probably should talk about what he would do in a situation like that, but I just can't bring myself to do it. It's too painful, thinking about leaving him without any parent at all. Maybe I should start taking him along. Maybe. Maybe next time.

"What are you gonna do while I'm gone?" Up on his feet now, the kid walks slowly next to the vegetables and I watch as he pulls weeds every now and then, tossing them to the concrete below the raised beds. He doesn't answer me right away, just keeps walking and messing with the leaves and budding flowers.

"I dunno, practice my aim with the bow, I guess."

"Good," I say, as cheerfully as I can, because that's the only way I can think of to make him feel better, short of letting him go with me. "I'll have the walkie talkie."

"Okay," he says, still looking down, but I can still hear the love in his voice. "Remember the rule."

I nod, standing up and making my way back into the lobby so I can go upstairs and get ready. "Number seventeen, don't be a hero."

_**Rule #17 - DON'T BE A HERO** _


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N - I'll be going back and forth between present and past. And here in the past, I've used some stuff directly from the show and then changed it a bit to suit the story. Not making any money off of it though!**

**Enchanted Forest - nearly a year earlier. August 2012**

_****(let's say for the sake of the story that the seasons in the Enchanted Forest are a little skewed, it's nearly winter here.)** ** _

The purple smoke recedes slowly, rolling off their shoulders and around their feet until finally it dissipates and the group is left with only the wilderness and themselves. But even in that wilderness there is some civilization. A couple, a man and a woman, emerge from a partially hidden gazebo through the trees not thirty feet away. Their eyes are wide and their surprise is evident. It's not every day, after all, that a group of twenty people arrives in a cloud of purple.

Snow greets the woman like an old friend, but Regina isn't sure she knows either of them. Not that she cares to. All she can think about is her son, but more specifically, not having her son anymore. The feeling clenches her heart and doesn't let go, its hand squeezing and squeezing until she thinks she might pass out from the effort of simply standing here among everyone. The tight, medieval corset compressing her ribs and lungs isn't helping much either. She's magicked them all into having the clothes they left this world onto their bodies, because everything that they had prior to the curse is what they have now. Even Charming's shirt is still bloody and ripped from that evening so long ago when he had fought for his wife and newborn baby.

All of that had led to this. Abandonment. Again. Snow and Charming had to leave their child again, had to say goodbye and hope for the best. And now Regina knows exactly what that feels like. She looks around, noting their approximate location and taking a good look at the new couple before them, going on about why they're here, what happened while they were gone and where they will go next. But it's difficult to focus on what they're saying, mainly because Regina can't find it within her to care.

Everything should be the same. Except it's not. It's not even close to the same because she's given up her son to a woman she's not even sure is up to the job of mothering him properly. Emma Swan is not short of desire to do well, that's for sure, but as for abilities, Regina has her doubts. But it's too late now for any doubts and second guessing. Now is the time for getting on with her life.

Her new life without her son, the only reason worth living in that godforsaken town. When it all went to hell after 'the savior' showed up, starting time up again and knocking over the first domino that would set off the chain of events that would break her curse and return everyone's memories to them. Even with people knowing who she was and what she had done to them in retaliation for all the things done to her in the past, she didn't care. She had Henry and that was all that mattered. Only, she didn't really have Henry anymore, not after Henry swore off magic and swore her off magic, not after Emma and Snow had been ripped from that world back into this one, trying to save Regina's life from the wraith.

Well, Emma tried to save her life. Snow was just going after her long lost daughter, like that would have made any difference. She's certain the confounded woman and her love-struck husband now are concerned mainly about starting a new family, starting over and giving a new baby a fresh chance. She had received another chance at Henry, but it hadn't felt quite right again, not until Neverland. No, Henry had seen her use magic against Charming, and even though she tried to win him back after that, it took him a while to trust her again, especially after practically wrenching him away from everyone else in an attempt to force him to stay with her. But that was short lived.

She remembers all too well how it felt to be held captive by her own mother and how all she wanted was freedom, the freedom to choose who she loved and how and the freedom to come and go as she pleased. At that point, she had been denying Henry that and knew that it wouldn't work, knew that Henry would never love her like she wanted him to. Regina shakes her head at the thought, wiping a hand across her bleary eyes. Even through all that, she still holds a special place in her heart for her mother, even after the woman had killed her first love, her true love, and even after she had forced Regina to marry Leopold, that disgusting old man.

It was too much, all that had happened, saving the town from the trigger she had planted herself along with Emma's help, and then realizing Henry had been kidnapped to Neverland, two gut wrenching events that took so much out of her, especially after having just been tortured by Greg when she refused to tell him that where his father was. Idiot man, thinking that he could hurt her with threats of death and pain? Had she not suffered through all those things tenfold in her life?

His torture was nothing. And probably, she might have deserved some of it for killing his father. She could handle anything he threw at her, any promise of death. No promise like that could make Regina quiver in fear. No, at the thought of losing her son, Regina knows just how easy it would be to welcome death, to welcome the thought of eternally sleeping, forever blacking out on this nightmare. Even in Neverland, against threats from Tink and threats from Pan, she didn't flinch. She hadn't flinched, because none of that scared her. No, and she didn't have any regrets either. Not like those weaklings Emma and Snow, regretting leaving their children behind.

She would never do something like that, abandon her own child on purpose without really giving him his best chance. Her head dips at the thought. She had abandoned him, in a way, but only because she had to. And she had left him with his birth mother, with a capable woman, she realizes it now, that Emma is capable, so that Henry will know family and will know again what it means to be loved from the beginning without abandonment.

And Regina still has no regrets, because she did what she had to do, damn the consequences. Emma and Snow could have done things differently. And certainly Snow, in her lifetime, Regina looks over at her, staring up at Charming with those wide, frightened eyes. But she knows what Snow is thinking underneath that initially shocked expression. Snow is more than ready to start her new life here, to rebuild and reclaim the kingdom, to start a new family and have her happy ending, who gives a damn about the people she neglects in the process. That makes Regina think of Emma, of Henry's other mother, of the savior, of the woman who crawled under her skin and infuriated her for close to two years, until she finally began to realize that Emma truly meant her no harm, that Emma understood her more than anyone. That all Emma wanted was for her son, for their son to be safe.

And now he would be safe with Emma. And Regina knows now what she wants to do, what she has to do for her own sake, for everyone else's sake as well. That eternal sleep is sounding more and more appealing.

Most of them have wandered off to explore, while Regina, Snow, Charming, the pirate and the new couple stand around in the gazebo. Regina stares off in to the forest, wondering how much has changed and how much is left. Snow is the only one who's been here in the past thirty years, and she would have all the information, apart from what they could get out of these two new lovebirds.

Regina tunes back into the conversation, right at the point where the woman, Aurora is her name and Phillip is the man's, is speaking about how the ogres have been defeated and they've taken back the land. And Charming, naturally, does not want to stay and celebrate, he wants to return to his kingdom and rebuild, start over and find his happy ending. Those two really are perfect for each other, Regina thinks with a roll of her eyes.

"But our castle was destroyed in the curse," Snow says to Charming, and everyone looks at Regina. Of course they do. Even the pirate, who had nothing to do with it, eyes her with contempt.

"Well done," he says. "You laid waste to everything."

She starts to retort, to summon more purple smoke and zap him into a rodent on the spot, when Aurora speaks again. Her tone matches Hook's and Snow's. "Not everything," she looks at Regina then, eyes narrowed. "Her castle still stands."

"Of course it does," Regina says. Naturally she would leave her own castle as it was. Just in case. "I protected it."

Charming pipes up then, needing to remind Snow that they have some claim to what is rightfully hers. "Technically, the castle doesn't belong to her. It was Snow's before she took it."

And Regina wonders why anger doesn't spike up hot and white into her mind like it usually does. This sort of statement would normally set her off into a frenzy of spell casting and a quest for revenge. She admits to herself that she had somewhat of a temper problem, it would be foolish to deny that. But things are different now, somehow. Even though Charming is dead wrong and the damned castle is hers, she can't really find it in herself to care about it.

"To be fair," is all she says, with little emotion. "I married into it."

Everyone knows she's right, of course, because she inherited the castle when Leopold died, or more accurately, when she had him killed. But no matter.

"That you did," Snow says, and her eyes are glowing with that crazed ambition that Regina remembers so well from when they were both so much younger. Not that Regina would put up much of a fight if they really wanted it back. She's not sure why they would, anyway. It's filled, for her, with bitter memories and death and the reminder of those years forced to share Leopold's bed. They can have it, she supposes, if they really want it. It won't be too difficult to get what she needs from her chambers and find a place to lie down for a long nap.

"And now we're taking it back," Snow continues. "And you are coming with us."

Regina balks. "You can't be serious."

All she wants is a few moments of peace and quiet to accomplish her task, not to be burdened with all these people and be unable to do what she wants with Snow breathing down her neck.

"Regina, everyone out there is scared and confused. They need hope, and what better way to do that than to return united?"

No argument will come to her mind, as much as she wills it. Again, she doesn't really care. But Snow goes on, rambling about how Regina probably won't like it, which is true, but that she'll learn to, which is not true, and that it's for everyone's good. All Regina can do is shrug, because if that's the way they want it, then fine.

They say goodbye to Aurora and Phillip and begin the day's long journey to Regina's castle, or Snow and Charming and Regina's castle. But as they prepare the horses Phillip has provided for them, Regina notices the seemingly happy couple arguing beneath the gazebo. She can't hear what they're saying, but they keep stealing glances towards the group. Something isn't right about it, but it's too late. It's time to go and she contemplates magicking herself to the entrance of her castle, just to avoid this walk and the company she'll have to endure during it. But doggedly, she trudges forward, like the rest of them towards the mountain and lake that her castle stands proudly over.

As the group travels, Grumpy informs Charming that more people from Storybrooke are popping up all over the place and the shepherd tells them to report to Regina's castle, that they'll all meet there and figure out what to do. The idea of every person in town crowding her place of solace sounds like an irritating headache to Regina, but there isn't much she can do about it. And next to the wrenching pain currently squeezing her heart, a headache is no big deal.

Then when Regina walks past Neal and Charming talking with their heads close together, she can't help but hear what they're saying. It makes her wish she hadn't walked past them at all.

"I know you're hurting, but Rumpelstiltskin is gone."

"Maybe," Neal says. "Maybe not. And maybe if he's not, he can get me back to Emma."

Emma, Regina thinks. He's concerned about Emma. No mention of his son, of Henry. Of her son. And just like that, the clenching pain is back full force, whereas before it was an ache. Now it's a full-fledged stabbing of her heart. Neal is concerned about Emma, and probably his son as well, but all Regina can think about is Henry. And all Neal wants is to get back and confuse the two of them. They have new memories, a new life, a fresh start, and she doesn't want Neal to screw with what she's given them, because it wasn't easy.

Strange, to think that heartache is thought of as a mental affliction, that the pain is all in the head, that the desires and loves of the mind are not literally driven by the heart. But the pain is real, this pain in her heart is real, figurative or not, she can feel it and it's the worst thing she's ever been through. Worse than living without Daniel, worse than her mother, worse than Leopold, worse than her time alone in the Land Without Magic, worse than being tortured with that electricity, and even worse than losing Henry to Neverland. At least then, she had hope of seeing him again.

She can still hear their conversation as she walks away.

"Regina was clear," Charming says firmly. "The price of our return was a complete reset. Supposedly there is no way to cross over, no more portals, and no way to conjure one without another curse."

All of this is true. As far as she knows, the curse will send everything back to normal, but as for portals, it's possible that there could be magic beans left in this world. There are always magic beans hidden away in dark places, ready to be used to travel through the worlds. There is always a way into another world, but as of right now, Regina possesses none of those ways.

"Even if we could reach them," Charming says, and Regina is thankful for this, as rare as it is that wise words come out of Charming's mouth. "They wouldn't remember us. So the best thing we can do is the only thing we can do. Let them be and give them their best chance."

It's true, that Neal will need to find Rumple in order to find or conjure a portal. Regina certainly isn't going to help him find one, not after what it took to say goodbye. But without him, Neal will simple have to learn to live without Emma and his son, just like she will. She almost laughs at that. How silly of her, to think that she can possibly live without the one person who made life worthwhile. No, she thinks, first I'll take out my heart because it hurts too damn much, and then I'll take a nice long nap. A type of sleep long enough and deep enough so that she won't have to think about Henry anymore and how impossible it is to be without him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Still April 1, 2013**

Once I'm upstairs, I gear up, which basically means I stuff guns in various parts of what little camouflage clothing I've found. New York City isn't big on stocking hunting equipment. Or guns for that matter. But some of the stuff I managed to scrape up at various NYPD stations. A spare gun or two, hidden at the back of a desk drawer, police grade walkie talkies and spare batteries. Their range is about five miles and we like to keep in contact the entire time I'm out somewhere. I put on my empty backpack and jog back down the stairs, preparing myself again for the kid's attitude.

He's barely a teenager so I guess I should take it with a grain of salt. Speaking of salt, we could probably use some more of that. I add it to my mental list. But the kid seems okay, not too terribly pissed as he follows me to the front gate in the courtyard, getting ready to close and lock it behind me when I leave. I say, "see you later," and he sort of grunts, but it's better than nothing. I know he loves me. I'm all he has, after all.

The mission for today is to go on a basic run. We're in need of some aluminum foil; it's useful stuff, but in particular we need it for the backup solar water purification system. Fancy sounding, I know, but really it's just a triangular shaped device with a pan of water at the bottom, sun heats up the water off the reflective foil, it condenses up on to the slanted glass and runs down into the collection tray. Simple and effective. Right now, clean drinking water is number one priority, and we've got filters and things like that which we use on the rainwater collection, but you just never know what kind of stuff is in the rainwater. So I like to boil it all, just in case and then store it for use later. And the solar purification is nice because that condensed water will always be pure enough to drink.

So while Bronx is holding down the fort, working on his aim with that bow and arrow we found at the sporting goods store a few months ago, I'll be looking for aluminum foil. It also never hurts to be on the lookout for canned goods or for pigeons. That's right, I said pigeons. They're pretty good, actually, once you get over the fact that New Yorkers have called them flying rats for so long now. Plus it's fresh meat. Nice change-up from the pretty weak vegetables I manage to grow out in the courtyard.

Anyway, the run goes off without a hitch, no problems at all, up until I get to the grocery store. I've taken a lot of stuff from this grocery store, it's one of those hidden places, sort of on a back street and in between a couple of restaurants so that you really have to squint to see it. All I'm looking for is salt. That's all I wanted. Maybe some velveeta. Nothing huge really. I've already got my bag half-full of aluminum foil, electric tape, some ace bandages, hydrogen peroxide, and a really nice find of various pharmaceuticals. Had to break open a cabinet for that. Oh, and some feminine products. The world might have gone to hell, but menstruation continues. The joys of being female with a uterus.

But this fucking walker just  _had_  to be in the same grocery store as me. Just had to be. Why? Why couldn't there be just one run where I don't encounter anyone at all?

There's barely any light left in the grocery store, as it's hidden between skyscrapers and the afternoon light is fading, but I don't want to use the flashlight yet, so I'm squinting in the semi-darkness. It scares the bejeezus out of me while I was bending down, scraping around on the bottom shelf and looking for some salt. All I could find so far was rock salt, which I think has rocks in it? And the only use I know of for it is to make ice cream. And we don't have a cow, so I don't need the rock salt. Anyway, my eye catches that famous little logo, you know the one with the little girl and the umbrella? So I go to reach for it and, naturally, something grabs me from behind.

"FUCK!" I yell, my hand losing its grip on the salt and instead going for the gun at my hip. I launch sideways to get out of the monster's reach and slide along the dusty tile on my ass. As I'm skidding backwards, it's like slow motion, and I can't help but think that having these dreams and not getting any sleep is having a negative effect on me. Maybe I'll make a new rule.

_**Rule #13 - CRAZY-ASS DREAMS ARE UNLUCKY** _

So the zombie is tripping over itself towards me, eyes rolling around in its head at the prospect of some fresh meat, and I take aim. My breath catches in my throat for just a split second, and I'm doubting if I'll have time to actually pull the trigger before this fucker is on top of me, digging into its late lunch of my flesh. But then . . .

BAM!

One shot is all it takes. One clear shot to the head and its skull snaps back on its rotting neck and it falls sideways, right next to me and far too close for comfort. I roll away from it and stand up, knowing damn good and well that the noise will draw more of them here and knowing that I have to hurry. I look down at the guy. It was a guy, I think. Its face is so deformed and decayed now that it's hard to tell. And god, the smell.

It's worse than the latrine. I consider leaving it on the floor as is, but then I think better of it. There's a rule for this after all. A very good rule, if I do say so myself. Because once, I was satisfied that a zombie was dead after I had only shot it once. A few seconds later, as I walked away, it started crawling back towards me again, unable to moan because I had shot its throat off and it almost got my leg. When I fired the second shot in between its eyes, I decided that some of the rules in the movie are there for a reason.

_**Rule # 2 - DOUBLE-TAP** _

So I fire again, once more into the head just to be sure, the shot rings out loud and jarring, and I leave my weapon unholstered. Bending down once more, I scoop up the salt container into my pack and take off at a brisk jog back out into the street. And sure enough, all the noise has drawn the attention of around fifteen walkers, stumbling and shuffling towards their potential source of food for the day. But I don't plan on sticking around for dinner, so I run the other direction, towards Central Park and into the relative safety of the woods near Jackie O Lake.

This isn't far from our apartment and I come up with a loose plan in my head to shake off the zombie parade I've accidentally acquired. But first, I need to let the kid know I'm on my way back. I unclip the walkie talkie from my hip and turn up the volume as I run. Depressing the button, I speak into it.

"Boston to Bronx, over."

He comes back almost immediately, and I'm sure he's been bored to tears back there, with only a couple books he has yet to read and a bow and arrow to waste the day away. "I read you Boston, go ahead."

"Retrieved the package, en route to base, over."

I can just see him smiling at my reluctant acceptance of this police jargon. It seemed silly at first, because there's no one listening to us speak on the radio, no one to keep our activities secret from. But he likes it. So, whatever.

"Roger that, Boston. Rule #3, over and out."

Smiling as I slow down to a walk, I replace the radio and look back behind me. No walkers in sight. Excellent.

And then, I catch sight of something out of the ordinary. Something that doesn't look right at all. I blink my eyes and squint into the trees and around the water's edge.

What in the hell?

It looks like a man walking from tree to tree, trying to be stealthy but doing a poor job of it. Dressed in all black and moving like a regular person, the only reason he catches my attention is because he isn't quite moving like a walker. And besides the kid, I haven't seen a live person in months. I wait, slide around behind a tree of my own and poke my head back out to get another look.

You've got to be shitting me.

There he goes again, darting to the next tree, looking my way and trying hard not to be seen, although it's hard with the black. At least I'm partially camouflaged. What the hell does this guy think he's doing?

And then it gets worse. He notices me noticing him, so he walks slowly out from behind the tree, one hand raised and the other grasping at his upper arm. He's sort of stumbling, as if he's been injured. Shit.

And then it gets even worse than that. As he gets closer, maybe fifty yards from me, I clutch my weapon, squeezing the butt of the gun tightly, ready to kill him if I need to. And then he yells out something that jars me to my core. Chill bumps run up and down my back, making all my hairs stand on end.

"Emma!"

No fucking way.

I keep my head craned around the tree, just staring at him because I can't believe what he just said. First of all, I don't know this guy, and he just broke Rule #35. And second of all, we have another rule for a situation like this.

_**Rule #9 - DON'T TRUST WEIRD DUDES** _

Especially dudes dressed in black leather, looking like Severus Snape and waving their arms around and yelling to high heaven, drawing the attention of every walker in a five mile radius. That's right, he's now waving his arms at me, still walking towards me and yelling at the top of his lungs. Does he not know that he's attracting the hungry attention of zombies?

I need a better vantage point, and the tree to my left looks good enough, so I duck down behind it and let my mind go back to the first of all. Which is: how the hell does this guy know my name?

All of my friends are dead, or undead, my old coworkers, my old foster parents from Oregon. Well, I'm not sure about that last part, but they were weak, mean-spirited people so it's likely that they've been eaten by zombies. Is it bad to hope they have? Anyway, no one knows my real name except Hen-I mean Bronx.

My old name. He's getting closer, and still I haven't seen a weapon, but that could easily be a trick. He could have been watching me, watching us, for days. But the name is still jarring. We haven't spoken our names to anyone for months. Do I actually know him?

I decide to take a chance and turn around everything I've ever learned about staying alive. In this case, the best defense is going to have to be an offense. So I stand up straight and swing myself around the tree, taking steps towards him with my gun drawn and a cold look on my face. I won't hesitate to kill him if I have to. Even though he seems to be human and there aren't many humans left and it's really the zombies I should be killing. If it means protecting my kid, then I'll kill him right here and now.

"Don't come any closer," I say loudly and he does what I tell him, keeping one hand up and the other on his arm. He looks surprised that I don't recognize him I guess and he just stands there, with his ghost white face and dark eyes. They're actually really dark eyes, in fact . . . is that eyeliner?

And then suddenly he collapses. Just crumples to the ground and is now lying on his side, eyes closed, injured arm against the ground. I can see now that he's lost a lot of blood. He's still pale, and a pool of dark blood is spreading on the pavement beneath his dark leather. It flows downhill into the grass and contrasts sharply with the bright green. I'm pretty sure dark blood isn't good. I'm also pretty sure it's arterial blood. Really important blood. And besides that, what kind of idiot wears dark leather at the beginning of April and in the middle of the world ending?

I guess the same kind of idiot who gets bitten by a zombie and then calls out my name and expects me to help him.

Well shit.

I guess I'm an idiot as much as he is, because I've got to help him. So I bend down, still holding my gun to him, because it could be a trick. The leather crinkles in my hands as I give him a brief patdown, but the only weapon I can find is a long sword attached to his hip. What the hell? Why a sword and not a gun?

I've heard of people with machetes, even long knives. But I've never actually seen it. Anyway, he looks like he's about to die, so I'm not too worried about him waking up to slice my neck open. Using my knee to roll him over onto his back, he lets out a strangled sort of groan and his eyes flutter open. They dart around for a moment before landing on me and my idiot-concerned face.

"Swan, you've got to help me."

First name  _and_  last name. Mother . . . I narrow my eyes at him, my hand goes to his neck, squeezes, and I'm just about to choke the rest of his dying British-accented breaths from his body. But before I do that, I want an answer.

"I'm not even sure I want to know how you know my name, but I do want to know if you've been bitten."

He shoots me a confused look, an unconvincing confused look. "Bitten?"

And he either catches the uncompromising look in my eyes or he knows instinctively that being bitten is a bad thing, because he doesn't seem to understand any of the other rules of New York City Zombieland.

"No, of course I haven't been bitten." But he's lying, of course. I can see it in his eyes. He looks scared to death and the fact that a zombie attacked him probably isn't helping his clueless situation. Unfortunately for him though, he's going to die and turn because of that bite, and there's nothing I can do to help him. I think he recognizes this conclusion in my expression as well, while I look up and down his body, shaking my head that I have to end a human's life before he turns into a non-human and comes back to eat me.

"It's okay," he says raspily, struggling to hold his head up to look in my eyes. "Nothing bad will happen."

I think he's actually a crazy person, so I ignore him and find purchase under his back so that I can flip him onto his other side and see how bad the damage is. He groans painfully again when I do this, and I can see why. There's a big chunk of skin and muscle and tendon torn out of his left deltoid. My fingers squeeze along his lower arm muscles, feeling for more damage and trying to determine if he's still got feeling down there. His eyes scrunch together in pain and it's obvious that he feels all of this. Finally my hand gets down to his gloved hand and when I squeeze it, it's unyielding. Like wood.

"What the hell?"

He looks down at his hand in mine and gives a lopsided smile. "It's a false hand, love. I lost it years ago."

I nod, although it's weird feeling a fake hand where a real hand should be, and let go of him. There's only one way to go about this that I can think of. It's either this or shooting him in the head right now. So I holster my weapon. Reaching around to my backpack, I feel around until my hand closes around the handle of my knife and I unsheathe it quickly. His eyes go wide at the sudden appearance of the blade.

"What's that for?"

"If you want to live, I'm gonna have to cut your arm off."

I didn't think it was possible with all the blood he's already lost, but his face turns even more white. "You're going to what? No!" His pitch raises at least two octaves and he starts trying to squirm away from me. But I grab hold of the offending arm and try to keep him still.

"No!" he cries. "I need that arm!"

I shake my head, but his other hand comes around and grasps my arm, staying the knife for a moment. "I really don't think you do. You don't even have a hand."

"That doesn't mean the arm itself isn't useful! Swan, please. Don't do this."

And that's the final straw for me. I really want to know how he knows my name, because he is sort of familiar to me. It's like those times when you meet someone and you're sure you've met them before but you really haven't. Like if the Hindus are right and we've been reincarnated, I probably knew him in a past life.

"How do you know my name?" I whisper it fiercely, afraid of the reply because I know he's going to say something like, oh yes, I've been watching you for weeks, months even, and now I know where your son is and he's going to die next.

"Because I know you. Or I did, before you lost your memories."

My head shakes quickly. What?

"What memories?" But he's having a hard time focusing due to the fact that he's dying on the paved ground right in front of me.

"Please don't cut off my arm," he mutters, his voice growing fainter.

I can't help my scoff. "You're kidding right? A whole year of these monsters, people, friends turning when they're bitten. You're going to turn too."

"No," he shakes his head. "I'm not. It's just a bite. Please, Swan."

"Don't  _fucking_  call me that!"

He balks at the language, at the ferocity. "Are you from Mars or something?" I emphasize my words slowly for him, because he seems sort of dense. "If you get bitten, you  _will_  turn into one of them!"

But all he can do now is shake his head. I don't know what's wrong with me. Something definitely is. I should have just left him there. Shot him between the eyes when I had the chance and left him there to rot. But that's not what I do. As hard as I try to be, that's not me.

I allow myself to trust him for a moment. "Tell me your name," I say quietly, leaning closer to him, replacing my knife back into my pack.

"Ki . . ." he starts to say, but I shake my head vigorously, cutting him off, knowing exactly what he'll do. When he turns, I want my mind to go to a place, not a face with a name and a family and a past.

"No first names. Towns. States. Places you used to love but can't anymore because the world's gone to shit."

"What's yours then?" he says quietly, allowing his eyes to close for a moment.

"Boston."

"All right then," he nods, accepting that. "I'll be Jolly Roger."

My mouth drops open just a little. Say what?

"Seriously?" I say, aware that he's a little loopy due to his dying and all, but that's it? That's the best he has? "And next you're going to tell me that you're Captain Hook."

But the look on his face says it all. Oh fuck me sideways.

He really is crazy.

"There's only one thing left to try," he says and I can barely hear him, so I lean down closer to catch whatever it is he's mumbling on about and then something  _really_  crazy happens. And it happens so fast I don't have time to react and stop him.

He lunges up in one final surge of energy, closing the distance between us in about a half-second. And before I know it, his mouth is on mine and he's kissing me. It doesn't last longer than it takes him to actually make contact. I pull back right away, because he tastes like blood and salt water and his scruffy beard scratched me and the whole damn thing caught me by surprise. And I don't like being caught by surprise.

My closest hand comes up to push him by the chest until he's back on the ground, gasping for breath and grimacing in pain from that last exertion. Captain Crazy Hook, meet the ground. I come damn close to punching him in his stupid, offensive mouth, but I hold myself back. He is dying after all. Although that doesn't make taking a kiss from me without asking warranted.

"What the hell?"

Again, he looks confused. Like he was expecting any other outcome than outrage on my part. Really?

"You still don't remember," his color fades even more as he slumps back, defeat painting his features.

"Remember what?" I ask angrily, sitting back on my haunches to create some distance between us. "You're crazy!"

I stand up, about to just say fuck it all and walk away from him, leave him to die and turn and deal with the consequences later. But as I straighten my back and adjust my vision to the nearest street, I see something else out of the ordinary. Oh come on.

This is getting ridiculous.

* * *

_A/N - So for this chapter, I know a lot of SQ fans refuse to read anything with Hook in it, seeing as he's a sketch-fest misogynistic pig, but I assure you, he's not the main character here (I'd like to fix what the show fucked up when it comes to certain characters) and Emma will put him in his place every time he steps out of line. If you want to back out now because of his involvement, okay that's fine, it was good while it lasted, but to everyone else, thanks for sticking around._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N - used a bunch of stuff from the episode here, sorry, but it works nicely with the plot of my story. thanks for reading!**

* * *

**Enchanted Forest, August 2012**

The castle is just over the mountain; they've traveled several miles already but have at least the rest of the day ahead of them before they reach the outer boundaries of Regina's castle. It's strange to Regina, how disinterested she is in her surroundings, the dull, bleary way she regards the world. As opposed to the mostly optimistic, cheery outlook everyone in the traveling party seems to have. The air here is fresher, less smoggy, not quite as fishy as the salty breeze in Storybrooke. The trees seem greener and the ground more springy with life and potential.

But all Regina can feel is her heart, all she can focus on is the fact that she won't be seeing any more of this cheerfulness soon. Soon enough, her eyes will be closed for a long, long time and she won't have to listen to any of these people anymore. Hearing them talk about Storybrooke is the worst part, but she tries her best to ignore them, to tune them out and focus on her pain, because that's the only thing that matters. She doesn't have Henry and that's all she needs to know.

Suddenly there's a commotion nearby in the brush. Snow, who's walking next to her and obviously paying closer attention to to their surroundings, grabs hold of her arm and stops her, effectively halting everyone behind them.

"Did you hear that?" she asks quietly and everyone hushes up, an eerie silence follows, punctuated only by birds chirping in nearby branches and the faint rustle of the wind through the leaves. "There was something there, in that bush."

Regina pauses and stares at the bush in question. Charming draws his sword, hero that he is, ready to do battle with whatever it is, probably a rodent of some sort, Regina thinks. Regina rolls her eyes and steps up to the bush, pressing her hand into the still damp leaves and spreading them to look inside.

"There's nothing here," she says dully. "Unless it flew away."

Snow's eyes go to the sky and she points, drawing her arrow and notching it to her bow. "It did!" she yells, taking a step back and preparing to let loose her arrow.

She hesitates as the beast accelerates backs towards them, but it's difficult to see what it is because the sun is directly behind it. It most certainly has wings and is much larger than any bird that typically exists in this land. It descends upon them faster and faster until Regina is almost certain it's coming right for her. "Shoot it!" Charming yells urgently, and Regina guesses that Snow was simply making sure that it wasn't some sort of friendly beast. Typical of her.

Snow lets the arrow fly and it grazes the beast on its neck, throwing it off balance, but the creature isn't deterred. It comes back around, flapping its enormous dark wings and is heading straight for Regina, she sees that now. Its sharp claws reach out for her.

"We need to find cover," Snow yells, dodging to the side and making to pull Regina with her. But the she stands her ground, holding out her hand and feeling entirely finished with this entire mess.

"No," she says firmly. "I don't run from monsters. They run from me." She lets loose the blue fireball and barely misses.

Hmm, she thinks. Must be out of practice. But it's too late to do anything else, for Charming to even swing his sword once, because the monkey, that's what it looks like up close now, with gleaming red eyes and razor-like teeth, has grabbed her arm.

And up, up she goes.

It lifts her up into the sky. Its claws certainly are sharp, sharper than she thought they would be, as they dig cruelly into her skin and draw blood.

Just as she feels her feet leaving the ground, a pair of strong hands grabs her legs and pulls in the opposite direction, and the feeling of being tortured on a medieval rack device crosses her mind. She looks down, sees Snow White tugging at her legs and almost wants to laugh, because Snow could just as easily let her be carried off by the beast and never be heard from again. That would solve their problems of having to deal with an evil queen that nobody wants around.

But no, Snow pulls harder and down she goes. The monkey screeches in protest, but releases her arm, finding its balance again as it prepares for a third strike. It perches up in a high tree branch for a moment and Regina has crumpled to the ground next to Snow. She spares the infuriatingly angelic faced woman a sideways glance, debating about saying thank you, perhaps later. The monkey has recovered from the harsh treatment and coils its muscles on the branch. Charming steps up, swings his sword around his shoulder in that annoying gesture of swordsmanship, and Regina struggles to get to her feet as she looks down to her now bloody arm.

And just as the monkey dives again, headed directly for her, another arrow flies out of nowhere and hits the creature solidly on the shoulder, diverting it from its course again. This time, it's had enough, and the flying beast takes to the air with its partially crippled shoulder, struggling to lift itself up higher, until it gets some momentum and is at last out of firing range. It heads off in the direction they're headed, towards Regina's castle, she notes, registering now the searing pain in her arm.

A man steps from behind a tree, with several other men, dressed similarly and following him. His hair is dark, his eyes however are sort of a dark blue-grey. He looks strong and fit, and Regina is annoyed already.

He reaches down to help Regina stand up, but she ignores the hand, pushing herself to her feet and brushing her leather pants off. Undeterred, the man looks from Regina back up to the sky and to Regina again, noting the injury on her arm. Cradling it to her body, she covers up the bleeding hastily.

"M'lady," he says, with his hand still outstretched and a concerned expression. "You're injured."

"It's 'Your Majesty'," she growls testily, because even if she's going to hand the reins of the kingdom over to Snow and Charming and take a long sleep, that doesn't mean she won't demand the respect of her subjects while they roam her lands. "And I'm fine."

His eyebrows fly up to his hairline, not used to being spoken to in this matter by the look of things. "A simple thank you would suffice."

"I didn't ask for your help," Regina says, and notes that neither Snow nor Charming are asking for thank yous. Snow, however, still on the ground, because Charming is looking around for another attack from a flying monkey, reaches up and takes his offered hand.

"Well, I'm grateful for the assistance."

"Robin of Locksley," he says, with a slight bow to her as she straightens up and faces him.

"Snow White."

Eyebrows again raised, Robin looks impressed and inclines his head towards her with a grin. "You know, there was a time when our faces graced wanted posters side by side."

He frowns then, probably realizing who Regina must be if she wants to be referred to as 'Your Majesty'. His right hand man realizes it at the same time and fails to keep his mouth shut like any decent and polite human being would.

"But if you're Snow White, why are you with  _her_?" The large man nods at Regina, his face has confused written all over it. Regina can do nothing but scowl at him. A fireball might do the trick, to at least set his wild beard on fire, but she thinks better of it. It's not worth the effort.

"Show some respect," she says, looking him up and down. "I am still a queen."

"You'll have to excuse Little John," Robin says quickly, ready to defend his man. "But before your curse, we spent many a day running from your black knights."

Regina shrugs, because she didn't simply send out her knights on frivolous missions, having them run willy-nilly around the kingdom to terrorize helpless people. That only happened when people refused to tell her Snow White's whereabouts. She almost cringes at the thought of all those people in the village, dead on her command. Almost.

"I'm sure you deserved it."

At that, Charming rests a supportive hand on his wife's back, checking to make sure she's okay, then steps in and looks back up at the sky. "What was that thing?"

"No idea," Robin says. "Never encountered one like it before."

"We'll need to keep a close watch out for the rest of the journey," Charming says.

"Where are you headed?" Robin says curiously, casting an eye over their now travel-weary group. Life in the Land Without Magic has made most of them soft.

Before Regina can tell him to shut his trap, and that they really don't even know this newcomer and his men, and that trusting him with their intentions is probably not a good idea, Charming reveals himself to be trusting and naive. Again.

"To our castle," he says confidently. "We've just arrived from the Land Without Magic and we'd like to get back to our own kingdom as quickly as possible."

Regina is thankful that his daughter takes more after Snow than Charming. She at least is careful about who she trusts. And that will serve her well as Henry's mother. Her heart pangs again.

"Ah yes," Robin says and looks around the group, finding a couple of familiar faces in the small crowd. Neal and Belle step up and greet him, exchanging hugs and hellos and how are yous and Regina wants to vomit.

"I think," Belle says after everyone has become reacquainted. "I have an idea as to what that creature probably was."

Regina knows exactly where she's headed because she might venture to say that Henry consumed books throughout his young life in the same way that this woman has. There was nothing Henry loved more than a good bedtime story real aloud by his mother, something with adventure and a hero or heroine and a happy ending.

"There's only one place monkeys like that come from, and that's Oz."

"Oz?" Snow's face scrunches up. "You mean the yellow brick road and Dorothy and the Wizard?"

Belle nods stoically, and Regina can guess why. "So if there are flying monkeys, that means they've been sent by only one person."

"You can't mean the Wicked Witch?" Grumpy butts in, looking as surprised as everyone else. How they all manage to live in complete ignorance of other worlds is beyond Regina. There's a Wonderland and a Land Without Color and a Land Without Magic, so of course there would be an Oz.

"Is she sending these monkeys through a portal from Oz to here?" Neal asks, face lighting up with hope. Regina shakes her head.

"Probably not. It looked like the flying beast was headed back towards my castle."

"Our castle," Snow says quietly, and Regina spares her another sideways glance.

"And it looked to me," Robin says, also staring Regina down. "Like the monkey was intent on one particular person."

"Great," the pirate grumbles. Hook stares at her. "So the Wicked Witch is after the Evil Queen. What did you do to this one?"

Frowning and looking perplexed, Regina holds her hands up. Not every evil person is that way because of things Regina did. And not all of the problems stem directly from her. Other people, like Rumpelstiltskin for one, had spoons in the pot as often as she did, if not more. "This time, nothing. I've never even met her."

"No personal vendetta," Charming says with a shocked expression. "Wow."

Regina has the decency, in her opinion, not to fry him on the spot and ignores him instead. "Anyway, if this Wicked Witch is indeed in the castle, we'll need to do something about that."

"Right," Snow says, gazing off into the direction of the mountain and the lake. "We'll continue our journey there and if it's too dark, we'll make camp on the outskirts and decide what to do in the morning."

"I'd rather sleep in my own bed," Regina says grumpily.

"Yes, well," Robin nods. "Sherwood Forest is nearby, and you are all more than welcome to join me and my merry men there for the night."

"Do you have weapons?" Charming asks, eyes shining with the promise of adventure and battle. Robin nods and his men look as excited as Charming. Regina concedes that they must be bored here without any black knights to chase them around, something she could remedy if she had the will to do it.

-  
Continuing their journey, Regina and Snow walk side-by-side and the former queen marvels at the small progress they've made together, even after everything. Even after Snow was responsible for murdering Cora. Even after they fought in Neverland and debated what would be best for Henry. And especially when Snow helped find her while Greg tortured her, and when Snow didn't hesitate to stand by her side when they scoured Neverland for her son. This feels like progress, and it's good, but it doesn't really matter.

Robin, Neal, and Belle are all walking up ahead, reminiscing about old times before and during the curse when they crossed paths, and Regina watches them closely. She wants to make sure Neal doesn't try and come up with a harebrained way to get back to Emma and Henry. Snow watches Regina as carefully as she watches the three people up ahead. And when Regina feels those eyes on her and looks over at Snow, the woman smiles, and Regina can see the young, bright faced girl from their past, excited and practically salivating for her future. How much different that future could have been if Snow's mother had lived. But, Regina chastises herself, all of those events led her to Henry, and she wouldn't trade those years for anything in any world.

She needs something to take her mind off her son and the pain caused by his absence. "So, what do you think of our new friend? Can we trust him?"

Snow contemplates it for a moment before Regina goes on. "He is a thief."

"Well," Snow says thoughtfully. "Think of it from his perspective. How do you think he looks at you?"

So true, Snow White. So true. "Point taken," Regina says simply, because she knows all too well how people perceive her.

"He is kind of cute, isn't he?" Snow asks, almost mischievously and Regina frowns.

"He smells like forest."

No, there's no time for dalliances with common thieves, or anyone for that matter. All there's time for is getting to the castle, figuring out what this Wicked Witch person is doing there, and then getting to cast a spell upon herself.

The Storybrooke party grows closer and closer to Regina's castle, every step getting more and more difficult because it's been at least ten miles since they saw Phillip and Aurora. Regina begins to notice signs and markers, certain trees and paths that look familiar. It's a strange feeling, being back here after so long. Being back after having the modern amenities of Storybrooke like cars and electricity and running water and telephones is going to be the part that takes the longest to get used to, she knows that.

More prominent in her mind are the memories of this place, of coming here as little more than a woman to marry a man she did not love, of living stashed away in this castle, depressed and forced to lie in his bed with him at night. The memories of what she did to Snow, having her father killed in a circular sort of way, taking over the castle and the kingdom and vowing to end Snow White for good.

There was so much hatred and need for vengeance inside her that Regina finds it difficult to want to be in the castle again. Yes, she had taken away their happy endings, hoping to get rid of Charming, hoping that Snow would feel loss like she did for Daniel. And she had tried to come after their daughter, the product of true love, but that didn't work out well for her. All of that to take away Snow's happy ending and it had led her to more loneliness and despair. Which in turn led her to Henry.

It wasn't all for nothing. But being back here has turned the tables. She's come full circle and hates every step.

The castle looms in front of them, as sharp and austere as ever, and Regina wonders if she should actually feel something for it. Any feeling other than heartache would be welcome, but she knows that won't happen.

Everything looks the same as they approach the gatehouse, if a little overgrown and unkempt. But that's to be expected after thirty years of neglect, Regina supposes. Nothing a little magical pruning won't take care of, and then she remembers. She won't be around to need to do anything like that. No, the fact that her castle is a mess doesn't matter anymore. The gatehouse is unmanned of course, but the entire party realizes that danger is lurking nearby, seeing as the flying monkey took off in this direction earlier. And the fact that the daylight is growing less and less, the day passing quickly into evening is not missed. Exploring a previously abandoned and possibly now occupied castle in the dark is not something to be taken lightly. "Wait, Regina," Charming says and she stops, turning to look back at him while the rest of the group waits expectantly. "We should have a plan, you know, in case the Wicked Witch is in there somewhere."

"If she is," Regina says with half of a tight smile, because she has to put on a face for these people until she can manage to be by herself. "I fully intend on finding out why. But there's no way she could have gotten in," Regina says simply, turning her head to stare up at the huge stone walls protecting her castle. "I sealed the entire place before the curse."

"Well, just in case, I think we still need a plan."

Regina rolls her eyes. "Fine," she says, standing down and waiting while Snow and Charming discuss a plan of action; while Robin, the smelly man, inputs his thoughts at different points. Regina doesn't care what the plan is, she simply wants to go find a place for her heart and then take a nap.

"Okay. Here's what we'll do," Snow looks at Regina and Robin and then over to Charming. "We four will go inside, make sure everything is okay, and if it is, we'll send the word down here that everyone can come inside."

"That's a terrible idea," Regina scoffs, looking between them. "I should go alone, make sure things are okay, and then I'll send the word."

"No, Regina" Charming says, and his tone borders on patronizing. "You can't go in alone. It's possibly dangerous."

"So?" Regina asks, because does anyone really care if some harm becomes of her?

"No, that's not happening," Snow says. "We're going together."

Regina wonders how this woman was a teacher in her town for thirty years if she doesn't even understand the line of succession from the Constitution. This journey seems to is turning out to be a perpetual eye roll. "Think of it this way," Regina says. "If all four of us go, and we all get killed by some unknown force, who then will rule all these people?"

"That's not going to happen," Snow says confidently.

"Fine. But your heads are not on me."

The rest of the party stays outside the gate, and several of Robin's men set up a perimeter, keeping watch while the leaders take a look inside. The front gate is closed tightly, sealed, Regina remembers well, by her own blood magic. But as they approach the door, something feels off. Apparently it isn't as tightly sealed as she thought. As they step up to the door, Regina can see that it's cracked open a bit, as if someone had just left it ajar not a minute before. But that simply can't be. She sealed it.

"That's not possible," she says quietly, pausing at the door.

"What's wrong?" Snow asks, staring at the partially opened door next to her. "Someone opened the door."

"Didn't you say something about blood . . "

"Yes, blood magic."

"Perhaps you left it unlocked," Robin suggests, trying to be helpful, Regina is sure, but all it manages to do is grate on her nerves. "No," she says carefully, the image of standing in front of this entrance and drawing her own blood to cast the spell is still vivid in her mind. "I sealed it with blood magic and I don't have any living relatives, so I'm the only one who can open it."

"Apparently not," Robin says. "This Wicked Witch must be a formidable foe."

Regina ignores him, knowing that he's right, that if someone can break her blood magic spell, they must be the most powerful in this land. And there was no one more powerful than Rumpelstiltskin that she knew of in all the realms.

Inside the castle, things are much the way she left them. Dark stone, clammy, almost like a dungeon, and a heavy layer of dust covers all surfaces. There are touches of comfort, she reminds herself, because not everything had to be about loneliness and cold and darkness. Rugs from her mother's house adorn the some of the hallways, a few paintings she admired over the years. Most of snow's family heirlooms, she had moved down into the basement and dungeons, not wanting to be associated with any of that side of the family. She's sure Snow notices that fact as they walk with echoing footsteps through the front hall.

"So," Regina says. "Should we split up, make sure the coast is clear? Meet back here in ten minutes?"

Charming contemplates this, stares at her for a moment and nods. "I suppose that would be the fastest way to make sure no one is here."

"There may not be anyone here now," Regina says. "But there certainly has been someone here recently. I'll take the downstairs area, and the rest of you can decide what you want to explore after that."

Snow eyes her suspiciously, realizing that she has an agenda probably, but can't do anything about it except agree to explore a different part of the castle. It must be strange for her to be back here as well after all this time, and to see it changed so much from her childhood home.

As Regina explores the downstairs area and makes her way down to the crypt, she encounters the second blood sealed door that has been broken into. It simply doesn't make any sense. How could someone break this barrier? How could a person or sorcerer be that powerful? Does the wicked witch possess that sort of unrivaled expertise? Regina summons magic to the tips of her fingers, ready to defend herself if she needs to against whomever might be lurking in her crypt. But there is no one there.

She looks around, deciding that this is as good of a place as any to leave her heart. Next to her mother and father and amongst all the other hearts Cora and Regina both had taken throughout their lives. She's pondering exactly where she should put it when she hears Snow calling out for her from the stairs.

"Regina," she says, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "You still down there?"

Regina rolls her eyes. "Yes," she calls back, abandoning for now her attempt to get rid of this pain. She'll have to do it later, when everyone is preoccupied with other matters. And there will certainly be more pressing matters than keeping up with the Evil Queen. Where will all the people stay, what will they eat? What will they do for work? How will their society start up again?

Regina knows it's going to take time and solid leadership, but she wants no part of it. It was exhausting enough, giving all these people new memories and places to live and jobs in Storybrooke. Anything else now is too much.

She reluctantly joins Snow on the stairs and they climb together to the main hall, where Robin and Charming are waiting.

"Find anything?" she asks, knowing that they didn't, for they wouldn't be standing here with her if they did.

"Nothing," Charming says and Robin shakes his head.

"All right then," Regina says. "I guess it's safe enough for now. Someone's been here, but they've cleared out."

"So, the witch can show up whenever she likes? She can break your barrier and pop in to see us with no announcement?" Robin asks. Regina shrugs. It's not really her concern. These people wanted to come back here, so here they are, dangers or not.

"I suppose so, but she must have been looking for something, and perhaps she found it and moved on. And I suppose it's time to let in the masses, then?" Regina says dully, finding the nearest chair and collapsing heavily into it. Walking all day has done a number on her feet.

"I'll go get them," Charming says and Regina can feel both Robin and Snow watching her, taking in her demeanor and the fact that she doesn't seem to care about anything. "Is everything okay, Regina?" Snow asks, hesitantly, and in her eyes, Regina can see that she knows everything isn't really okay, but she does look concerned. Ah well, if she must put on a face for the sake of the others' sanity, so be it.

"Everything is fine," she says, aiming for a smile, but it comes out more like a grimace. "If you discount the fact that I no longer have Henry."

"Who is Henry?" Robin asks quietly and Snow shoots him a quick look. Regina's heart pangs again. "My son," she says, gritting her teeth.

Robin keeps his mouth shut, taking the hint from Regina to shut his trap and from Snow that probably she will tell him about it later.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for the long wait. Here's the next three chapters. Enjoy!**

_New York City, April 1, 2013_

* * *

I've gone months without seeing another human besides the kid and then on none other than goddamned April Fool's Day, not one, but two crazily dressed people come my way. Maybe this is another dream. I'm tempted to try pinching myself so that I can wake up, but I've got the eerie feeling that this is indeed real life. And then there  **you**  come, jogging towards us, so I take a step back and pull my gun again, ready to take you out if I need to.

You get closer and closer and you look from me to Crazy Hook and then back up to me, and your expression seems as bewildered as his was. Not to mention that fact that you're disheveled, and you also seem out of breath and a little pissed off as you come to a stop next to his prone figure. You must not be aware of Rule #1.

Hands go to your hips and I can't help but look you up and down. Leather breeches, riding boots, and a white, sort of flowy shirt. Vest on top, and a long chain with a silvery trinket of some sort at the end of it. Dark, short hair that's looking like it's seen better days. You look like you're from the past. Or from the Princess Bride. Inconceivable, I know. But your eyes are the most haunting. Dark brown depths, like you've seen some really fucked up shit in your lifetime. You're dressed in the same style as this maniac, so automatically, my mind makes the connection and I know you're working together. Two crazies. Great. Happy April Fools to me.

Ignoring completely the gun pointed directly at your head, you stare down at the bleeding man and your hands shake with fury.

"Hook, you bastard, I told you to wait!" Your voice is shaking like your hands are and you keep your eyes on him for a moment longer, like you're trying to melt him with your gaze. "And now look, the undead are here too."

I hadn't noticed.

But now I do. My head swivels around to our right, where there's a big lawn overgrown with weeds and tall grass now because there's no one left to mow it, and there they are. Fucking zombies, lumbering towards us slowly from maybe a football field away, drawn to all the commotion and rule breaking.

When my eyes land on you again, you're staring right at me and I breathe in sharply at this strange sensation. It feels like Pavlov's dog, like a conditioned response where my heart clenches with fear and anger and something that resembles affection at the same time.

"Emma," is the word that I see leave your lips, but it can't be true. There's no possible way you know my name too. I shake my head. Thoughts rattle around in there but none of them compute. All I can think of is Rule #35 - no first names. And I don't have a rule for weird women dressed in weird clothing. Just weird dudes.

"No first names," I stutter, my head moving back and forth. "No. How the hell do you know my name?"

"Emma, what happened to him?" You're ignoring everything I'm saying and gesturing down to the crazy guy. He looks like he's passed out and now you're squatting down next to him, moving your hands erratically just above his injury.

"Don't call me that," is all I can say, although you're looking more and more flustered and desperate as the seconds go past. I should probably help you somehow, but I don't know what to do. "No first names."

Turns out he's not completely unconscious. "Please," he mutters. And you move your hands over the wound again, and there's the third out of the ordinary thing I've seen so far today. Damn it, what is that coming from your hands?

"What the hell?"

You glance up at me and then back down, concentrating on whatever it is that you're doing, but you look frustrated. Whatever it is, it's not working. These sparks and the subtle movement of crazy guy's leather-clad body make me think you're electrocuting him. But you've got nothing in your hands and there's no source of electricity out here in the park.

I'm staring at your hands and you're staring at your hands, and then you look up at me again, and something in your expression tells me you've made a decision. "It's weak here. . ."

The words tumble from your mouth, as if you're talking to yourself and not even aware of it. And the decisive moment returns. "Come here," you say, like it's an order that I can't refuse, like it's something you do every day, ordering strangers around and telling them to come close to two weirdos, one of whom is about to be a zombie in a matter of minutes.

So naturally, I hesitate, knowing it could be a trap, knowing that it probably is a trap.

You look like you know what you're doing. But you're crazy so there's no reason I should trust you. Why should I help a crazy person save another crazy person? What the hell am I thinking, why am I taking the three steps it takes to reach you and kneeling down at Jolly's side? What the hell is wrong with me?

But there's something in your eyes, your deeper-than-a-regular-person's-soul eyes, that makes me trust you for some reason. I know it's going to bite me in the ass. I just know it, but I lean forward anyway. And I can see that this isn't going to be good, and I can see sparks coming out of your hands and I don't know what you're trying to do. Shock him? It really does look like electrocution via one of those plastic science balls you see in the classroom where you touch it and the electrical currents shoot out to meet your hands. Some sort of conduction, I think. But that current comes from a battery, and your current is coming directly from your palms and fingers and it's bizarre and purple and like miniature lightning.

You and I are an arm's length apart now and you're still staring at me, still pleading with me to help you because he's close to death and there's not much time.

"Put your hands on mine." Another order, and strangely enough, even though I've never taken orders well from anyone in my entire life, I want to do what you say.

But I'm a little reluctant because you're probably going to shock me and kill me, but I do it anyway, because he's bleeding out and soon he'll turn and try to eat me and you both. It seems like you know this will happen because the expression on your face is riddled with all kinds of emotions. Surprise, desperation, and finally relief as I touch my palms to the back of your hands.

The effect is instantaneous. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. A buzz shocks through me, like I thought it would, except it's different. It's cold and surging and it flows through my body like I've got tiny bumble bees in my veins. And I can see the change in color and intensity of the current. It's sort of a blue-purple now and it's brighter. The sharp breath you inhale is audible, even over the thrumming of my heart and the roaring in my ears and the scraping of the zombie's feet in the grass as they get closer and closer to us.

We watch beneath our joined hands as the wound closes up beneath the ripped leather. A jagged toothy scar is now running down Jolly's arm, but it's closed and hopefully he's not going to die anymore. That was . . . well, that was fucking crazy. But there's no time to sit and ponder, even though all I want to do is sit and hold my head and rock back and forth because I think I've gone crazy now too. That couldn't be real.

I shoot to my feet, pulling on the guy's healed arm and you follow suit, tugging on his good arm. He stirs, shaking his head groggily, helping us drag him to his feet, weak still from the bite and opens his eyes. "Let's go." I say urgently, inclining my head towards the walkers because they're closing in on us now and I don't want to use my gun on them now out here in the open. I might attract more people dressed in leather who can do crazy things with electricity. You nod and Jolly nods and we set off at a slow pace until he gets his feet back under him.

Even though I'm in spectacular cardiovascular shape because that's Rule #1, I'm not used to supporting the weight of a fully grown fictional character and it takes its toll on me. You and I both are huffing and puffing as we weave in and out of trees, towards the street. And eventually, we get far enough out of the walker's reach and out of the park so that we can take a break behind a building. The walkers can't catch up to us, and they meander in a different direction, losing the scent and wandering away to search for another meal.

I'm bent over, catching my breath and after a moment, I look up at you and the crazy guy and you're doing the same. He still looks pale, and you don't look so good yourself, like maybe you haven't eaten in a couple of days. And of all the things I could ask about, there's really one question that's on the forefront of my brain. Apparently I have a little power in me, because you needed my help back there with the electricity. Whether that's measurable in Watts or Volts or Amps, I'm not really sure.

"What the hell was that? And why didn't I get a Hogwarts letter?"

The expression on your face is priceless. I didn't expect you to even know what I'm talking about, but your face breaks into a grin and you look down at the floor. The loony Roger guy on the other hand, doesn't have a clue. He stands up straight, closes his eyes, and leans his head back against the brick wall.

"What I'd like to know," you start, sending a pointed glare at the guy in black. "Is how the hell you ended up that way?"

I like the way that word forms on your mouth. Hell. It's nice. It's like you know what hell really feels like. The guy opens his eyes, rolls them, and stares straight ahead, not meeting your gaze.

"There was an unfortunate situation on the docks as I navigated out of Storybrooke."

A strange, half-laugh, half-cough escapes your throat and I watch as your rearrange your expression quickly into one of neutrality, waiting for the guy to continue.

"One of the undead had been wandering around there for some time, and seeing as I had no idea he was there, you can imagine my surprise when I opened a warehouse door and out he sprang to feast upon my arm."

Why he sounds like he's from the 19th century and straight out of a Pirates of the Caribbean movie, I'm not really sure. Maybe it's just part of his act. Maybe he was on Broadway at some point and he's just gone cuckoo since then. That would explain the eyeliner. But the conversation is moving on without me, so I refocus on what's being said.

"Serves you right, you insolent idiot."

"Now don't be cross, your majesty. I was simply taking the opportunity to give us both a chance to reach Swan as quickly as possible."

"Hey . . ." I start to protest, but you cut me off, tiring of my name game and give me a sharp stare. If I'm not mistaken, Jolly has just called you 'your majesty'. I tilt my head, trying to figure everything out, to no avail.

"I went into my house for ten minutes at the most, and that's all it took for you to take off without me in a sailboat!" You're practically hissing at him now, hackles raised and he leans away from you. And I'm afraid for the moment that if he's not careful, you're going to shock him back into his near-death state, even after going through all that to save him.

"I do apologize for the inconvenience, but what's done is done. And now that we're both here and safe with Ms. Swan, I think it's time to figure out how to get her memories back."

"You keep talking about these lost memories," I butt in, holding my hand up in protest, ignoring for the moment that he's said my name again. "But I haven't lost any memories."

Again with the glance, and it sort of makes me feel like I'm a moron when you look at me like that. But suddenly it softens and you take in my appearance, eyes roving over my grass and blood stained camouflage pants and tank and finally landing on my full backpack. I'm not sure what you're thinking, but at least it's not that 'you're an idiot' stare anymore, it looks more like you want to ask me something, but the eyeliner guy is talking again.

"I tried reviving her memories to no avail. Perhaps it didn't work because she's under a curse?"

You whirl on the leather-clad man and he practically cowers before you, taking another step backwards into the alley where we stand. "You did what?"

"If you're talking about that kiss, then yeah, it didn't work. At all," I say sarcastically, frowning at him and his scratchy beard. You look back at me, eyes trailing down to my lips and then back up to meet my gaze. And then you look at him and roll your eyes. "I already told you that wouldn't work, you idiot."

"It could have worked," he says. "It was worth trying anyway."

I'm still frowning, still unsure what that kiss has to do with returning my 'memories'. "I disagree."

You let a snort escape your nose and mouth and I almost laugh with you because it's sort of fun to watch yours and Jolly's interactions. Not to mention the fact that he wanted that kiss to be so much better than it was. And it just wasn't.

Anyway, it's getting close to dark now and I really don't want to be surprised by any more walkers. I've got what I came on the run for, and it's time to go back because my kid will be worried and somehow I gained a couple of crazies that I didn't come for, and so therein lies the dilemma. What do I do with these two?

Option A: leave without them, try and outrun them and lose them, hoping I don't eventually lead them back to my place and the kid.

Option B: take them back with me.

Option C: kill them.

I shake my head. No, can't kill them, so Option C is out. They're humans, some of the few left on earth, I'm sure. At least I think they're human.

There are bound to be some others, I know there are, actually, but they're all scared and distrusting and holed up and just like me.

And somehow you people are different. First of all, Roger knows my name and you know my name, but obviously you're not from here. These zombies seem to be a strange thing to you both. But I thought the plague of zombies had reached everywhere. So where are you from?

"Okay," I say, standing with my legs apart, arms crossed authoritatively, because this is my home turf, damn the fact that you've already intimidated me just a little. "I'm going to leave. You've got a few minutes to convince me why I should take you two with me."

You decide to go first, but you hesitate, like you're unsure if I'm going to believe what you're about to say. And judging by the things you two have said already, it's unlikely.

"We need your help. You've lost all your memories and that's why you don't remember us, but your parents are in trouble. Your town is in trouble."

Well that's a loaded string of sentences. All I can do is stare at you because that didn't make sense at all. The only person that needs me is the kid, and I haven't lost any memories, and I have no parents. And I'm already in my town and yes, obviously it's in trouble, but I'm dealing with it. But the last part didn't sound as truthful as the rest when you said it. It sounded like you added that part on.

Jolly Roger gives you a sharp look. He must know that last part was a lie. But the rest of it, somehow I don't think you're lying about that, especially not when your fingers wrap around the trinket around your neck. Something's got you worried. And I have a feeling it's not the zombies.

"Parents?" I question, eyebrow raised. "What parents? I'm an orphan."

You nod, patiently. "Yes, because they gave you up. Because they needed to give you your best chance. But you met them two years ago, before you lost your memories."

"That doesn't make sense," I argue. "How could I lose memories of only a year? That's not a thing!"

"It's true. And if Hook's kiss wouldn't bring your memories back, well," you send a sideways glance to the eyeliner guy. "That's not a bad thing in my book, but we'll have to figure out another way to do it. And my . . . I'm not my usual self now and I don't think I can do anything to help your memories."

Again with the kiss. Still not understanding. And what the hell are you even talking about?

"What? Are you a doctor or something?"

You shake your head, trying not to get impatient with me, but you manage not to give me the idiot glare again. "No, not a doctor, just . . . it's a long story." You shake your head. "It's not going to make any sense. It's going to sound crazy."

I scoff and the pirate guy is just standing over there with his arms crossed, watching the exchange nervously. "Lady, you already sound crazy!"

A deep breath of air fills my lungs as I try to prepare myself for what you're about to hit me with. "Just tell me who you think I am! Just go on and tell me and I'll listen."

You look at Jolly. He looks distraught and out of options and so he shrugs. You purse your lips together, preparing yourself, I suppose, for the big lie that's about to come out of your mouth.

"We're from a different world. A world where all the fairytales you've ever heard are true. And you're from that world too, that's why you have magic in you, because you're the product of true love." You say that last part bitterly, spitting it out of those red lips. I continue to listen, mouth open, eyes squinting, searching for the tell, searching for that one single hint that will tell me you're lying through your teeth. But I don't find it. What the hell.

"You're telling me I'm some sort of alien. A fairytale alien from a different world. And you two are aliens as well?"

The out-of-place dark hair around your face shakes back and forth. "Not aliens, just otherworldly. Although, I suppose that is a definition of alien."

"In any case," you go on, your voice low pitched and rumbly. "Your parents are in trouble, and our world is in trouble, and you're the only one left who can help us save it from utter destruction."

I nod slowly, although it still doesn't make sense. I've never been to another world in my whole life. You'd think I'd remember something as life altering as that. "And why me?"

Another look passes between you and the guy with the hook. Your look is dark and his is sort of moony-eyed. "Because you're the savior."

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard."

"I knew you'd say that."

"And you've got magic," I say, not accusingly, but more matter-of-fact.

You nod, and you stare at me curiously, like I'm some bizarre work of art or a long-lost artifact in a museum. "Yes, but it's different here, not as strong."

"That's why you needed me to heal this guy?" I incline my head at they eyeliner dude and you nod. But that doesn't make sense either. I want to pace, but instead I start to walk off because you've just broken Rule #540 - No Fairytales along with pretty much all of my other rules without batting an eye. So I'm done with this. I'm done with you and my head hurts and this cannot be real.

But Jolly steps after me. "Wait!" he says, and I stop, turn reluctantly and look back between the two of you. You're hanging your head, looking like you're running out of options and then the Jolly guy says, "Just wait, I know it's getting dark, but we can show you something. Something that will make you believe us. But you'll have to have a little faith, Swan."

My eyes squeeze shut. "Damn it, stop that!"

"Sorry, love. But please, tomorrow, will you allow us to show you?"

My hands go to my hips first and then I gesture with one of them out into the street. "I'm not your love, and there probably won't be a tomorrow for you. You two won't make it through the night out here."

But the expression on your face tells me otherwise, and when you look over to Jack Sparrow, he's wearing the same expression. Seriously? is what is written all over your faces. Oh. Sometimes I forget that I live in the city and that not all people rely on buildings. Not that I couldn't survive in the wilderness. I can make a fire and kill an animal. Certainly can kill a zombie. But buildings are nice. Shelter is nice. And both of you are dressed in such strange fashions that it's hard not to judge based on appearance.

But you two did make it here, almost completely in one piece, from wherever you originated. Other worldly or not.

"Tell me your name," I say to you, and you're about to without hesitation, but just like I did for Captain Sparrow, I raise my hand and lower my head when you open your mouth. "I don't want to hear your real name. Towns, places. I'm Boston. He's Jolly Roger."

I just want to hear what town you come up with. You hesitate, thinking about it and finally you shrug and say, "Portland."

"Oregon or Maine?" I'm curious about that because I spent years in Oregon and met that bastard I don't like to talk about there, and you don't have any obligation to answer me, but you humor me anyway. "Maine," you say simply, and I take another deep breath. Maybe I should take up yoga to soothe my frazzled nerves.

"What?" You ask, watching my face closely.

I'm looking around now and I check my watch, solar powered, military grade, but it recently stopped receiving its radio signals for the atomic time when the whole world went to hell. It's still close anyway. You notice my behavior and it's like you know what I'm looking for. You've had this wary look about you this whole time, as if waiting for someone else to show up.

"Where's . . ." You hesitate without finishing your question, your red lips snap shut.

"Where's what?" I ask, because I can see something in your eyes and I don't like it. You know something. You know what I'm looking for, what I'm worried about. And after another moment's hesitation and deep searching of my face, you go for it.

"Your son. Where's your son?"

I blink.

My eyebrows furrow.

And then a string of expletives and questions flash through my mind. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. How do you know about him? Right away I realize that I was right about you two spying on me and the kid for weeks, months and now that I know that you know, I'm scared to death. And being scared puts me on the defensive. And being on defense makes me want to go to offense. I think I can take both of you on, even with your bizarre magic tricks and the guy with the fake hand and the sword. Can't forget about that. But I can still take you both. I've got the gun, after all.

And, right about then, I think it's thanks again to the dreams from last night, the dratted Rule #13 - Weird Dreams are Unlucky, the walkie talkie rumbles to life. Fucking hell.

_"Bronx to Boston. Bronx to Boston, over."_

I almost growl in frustration. Of all the damned timing, kid.

I look at you and you're staring at my side pocket, at the voice that's just come out of the device, eyes wide and face pale.

"It's okay," I say, because you look like either you've seen a ghost or you've never seen a two-way radio before, although I don't know why I'm trying to comfort you when it's me who needs comforting because I'm about to fall apart here. "It's just a radio."

"Henry," I see the word form on your lips but don't hear it come out. And I'm almost sure I'm mistaken. There's just no way you said what I think you said. It's like when you said my name but worse.

"What did you say?" Taking a step forward, I lean towards you to hear better, shifting and squeezing my hand tightly around the metal of my gun.

"I said Henry. Ou-" you pause, close your mouth and shake your head slightly, starting again. "Your son's name is Henry."


	6. Chapter 6

**So I used a bit of the dialogue from an episode here, with a few of my own twists. This part of the story will soon divert from canon. Enjoy!**

**_Enchanted Forest_ **

Soon enough, the rest of the Storybrooke townspeople are filing in the castle, looking around with obvious fear and vivid memories of what this castle, or seeing the inside of this castle, used to mean. Imminent danger and probably death. Those were the days, Regina thinks dryly to herself, not really meaning it. Snow and Charming delegate jobs to certain people, sending Granny to make sure there are enough rooms and beds for everyone. There aren't, Regina knows that, but there will be linens and sleeping pallets enough for all of them. Ruby is in charge of searching the kitchen for anything edible, and Little John goes with her, carrying two packs of supplies from their camp.

They'll need to begin trade with Phillip and Aurora's kingdom as soon as possible if they want to keep everyone alive, Regina thinks but says nothing as she remains in her chair and watches the commotion take place in her cavernous front hall. Belle and Neal are given a book, pen and parchment and are charged with accounting for people, writing down where they plan to go and the job they plan on undertaking in the future. They'll need to all work together to rebuild their villages and that will take months, if not years. Regina supposes she could help them with some of that, but can't find it within her to move even a fingertip for these people. Granted, she did take away everything from them, send them to a foreign world and wipe their memories clean, so she probably does owe them something. But she was blinded by vengeance and couldn't help herself back then. Having a son and something good in her life helped her for the better. Until she lost him.

And that's all it takes, one more thought of Henry before she's on her feet and slipping back through the doors downstairs, her boots clicking lightly on the stones as she descends, hoping no one sees her because all she wants is to be alone for a little while to take care of this. She makes it to the crypt and crosses the room, running her hand lightly along her mother's coffin, the stone cool and smooth under her palm. If only things hadn't turned out the way they did. If only her mother hadn't been so driven for royalty and power, she might have been happy with Daniel and still have a loving family. She reminds herself that she doesn't regret any of it. It led her to Henry and she knew happiness again. True happiness with her son, her new family. And brief happiness with his other mother, and the fact that she tried to include Regina as often as possible, although Emma intruded upon both their lives and made Regina's life a living hell there for a while, Emma had attempted to do some good. And now it's all too painful to bear.

Regina takes a deep breath and plunges her hand directly into her chest, grasping hold of the aching organ and pulling it free. A dull void in her chest meets her with comforting emptiness. It doesn't feel good. It just feels like . . . nothing. She regards the heart in her hand. Most of it is darkened, blackened by so many years of hatred and murder so that only a fragment remains glowing and red. The fragment that can still love Henry. That's all she has left, that tiny part that was causing her so much pain.

Momentarily Regina debates crushing it in her palm, diminishing the foul thing into dust so that she can end everything and not have to feel ever again. But that's not what she wants. She still has hope, still has the thought that Henry might find her again, and for that to happen, she needs to finish with this and make her way to her chambers.

The box is nondescript, just another wooden box amongst all the stolen hearts in the crypt, and she is just placing the heart inside when she hears footsteps behind her.

"What are you doing?"

Regina spins around, the heart half-hidden in her grasp. Damned Snow White. Dark eyes narrow at the younger woman. "So now you're following me?"

"We were worried," Snow says, a frown painting her face. "And it looks like we were right to be. What are you putting in there?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Regina says coldly, wishing Snow hadn't shown up. This complicates things. "Why does that make me think that it does?"

Snow steps closer, accusation in her eyes, regarding the glowing object in Regina's hand. "Is that a heart?"

"Go away," Regina says, knowing she sounds like a child, but all she wanted was one small thing. To be left alone for ten minutes to do this. And Snow, pest that she is, can't keep her nose out of it.

"it's yours, isn't it?" Snow knows her now better than Regina previously gave her credit for. A Snow White of the past might have accused Regina of stealing someone else's heart and hiding it in here. But she knows what Regina is feeling now.

"Look," Snow goes on, when Regina doesn't speak, only places the heart in the box and pushes it inside its compartment. It thuds solidly through the wood, still mimicking the movements needed to pump blood through her system. "I know you miss Henry . . ."

Regina cuts her off, turning to fully face the woman. "Not as much as I did when it was still beating in my chest."

Snow shakes her head. "This isn't the answer, no matter how much pain you feel. You can't just live without your heart."

"Watch me."

"Regina, think about it. This is what your mother did. Do you really want to be like that?"

"I don't care. She's dead, Thanks to you, so what does it matter?"

Snow ignores that dig, knowing full well that it was her fault. "You won't feel better, Regina. You won't feel anything."

Regina meets her eyes, hoping to convey this nearly hopeless longing and desperation in her chest to a woman who still has hope of future happiness. "That's the point. I can't keep walking around, knowing that I'll never see Henry. That he doesn't even remember who i am."

Her face contorts in anguish, hating that she's crying in front of her former sworn enemy, but the feeling of loss is still staggering, even without her heart.

"I know exactly how you feel. I just said goodbye to my daughter for the second time. Henry too. But I promise you," Snow says, stepping towards Regina and taking her hands. Regina almost pulls away, but the comforting touch is almost . . . nice. "It will get better  _with_  that," she nods to the compartment in the wall. "It will let you feel something else soon enough."

"What's that?" Regina asks, regarding Snow with skeptical eyes.

"The one thing Henry wanted you to find. . . happiness, Regina."

She shakes her head. A noble notion, certainly, but it's simply not going to work. "I can't be happy without Henry."

"Find a way," Snow says, smiling that ever-hopeful, infuriating smile that she and Charming share. At least Emma doesn't look like that, that 'I will always find you' puppy dog look. Emma's, at least, is more of a confused puppy dog look.

Regina nods, knowing that Snow won't leave her alone unless she goes along with her. She'll just have to find time later to sneak away alone again. With or without her heart, she is going to go to sleep.

She moves to the compartment and takes the heart back out, regards it for a moment more before pressing it firmly back into her chest. It felt like she removed a sword from her chest before, and relieving pain followed it. And now she's shoving it back in, a glutton for punishment apparently and feels tenfold all of the crushingly horrible feelings once again.

"Now," Snow says, sadist that she is, takes her arm. The desire to poison the woman again fleets briefly through her mind. "Let's get back upstairs."

Two hours later, the whole lot of them have been fed and issued linens so that they can settle in to the many bedrooms and not as many beds. Several of the townspeople will have to sleep on the floor in the grand dining room. Regina doesn't offer to share her room with anyone and simply slips away again while Snow is busy snuffing out candles and making sure the front door is locked, not that that will stop someone like the Wicked Witch from getting back in.

That damned Snow has had her eyes on Regina all evening, glancing over at her what seems like every five minutes. Making sure, Regina figures, that she's not going to sneak away again and toss her heart out a window. If Regina was able to get away, she certainly wouldn't put it someplace where something could happen to it, where a random passerby could pick it up and crush it, or worse, use it for something more sinister.

Finally, finally, Regina is able to get away when Snow is preoccupied, and she takes advantage of it, getting the hell out of there and heading upstairs to her chambers. It's dusty, like everything else in the castle, but this, more than anything today feels almost like home. Almost. It at least it invokes the familiar kind of nostalgia instead of the painful kind, the kind she feels all the time for her son.

All her things, all her old belongings, dresses, perfumes, brushes, keepsakes, her bed, all of it is here, exactly as she left it all those years ago, frozen here in time until Emma broke the first curse. She ignores the items, heading straight for her trunk next to the vanity. It contains all of her rare ingredients for the potion she currently needs to make. And after a few minutes of rustling around inside, Regina pulls out three different bottles, placing them lightly on the tabletop and closes her eyes, recalling the exact order and amount needed for the potion to work correctly.

But just as she's about to open her eyes again and get started, Regina hears a thump, followed by a light scraping noise near the door. Her eyes fly open and she twists in the chair, getting an eyeful of that smelly thieving Robin Hood, standing inside her room now with the door closed and staring at her suspiciously.

"What in the world do you think you're doing in here?" she demands, not bother to get up or waste any more energy on him for that matter, even as he steps farther into the room. He has the decency at least, to look slightly abashed.

"I'm very sorry, your Majesty," he says it with an almost smirk. "Snow noticed your absence and asked me to look in on you while she tended to other matters. Is everything all right?"

If looks could kill, Regina thinks. "Everything is fine," she says in a low tone, wanting him to leave but not really caring if he does. "Now, please leave me alone."

"What are you doing over there?" He is closer now, close enough to see that she's mixing something up, and it's certainly not a nightcap, that much is plain. She can feel the tension increase in the room when she hesitates to answer, knowing full well that he has reason to be quite suspicious of her. She was the Evil Queen after all.

"Nothing that concerns you."

The sound of a throat clearing and what sounds an awful lot like an arrow being pulled from a quiver gives Regina pause. The fabric of her cloak rustles beneath her as she turns in the seat to look at him again, raising an eyebrow when she sees that he does indeed have an arrow notched to his bow. It is aimed directly at her heart. Well, this is one way to do it, she supposes dryly.

"I won't ask you again," He says, drawing the bow taut, some sort of self-righteous heroic expression that reminds her of Charming taking over his face. "What is that?"

No, this won't do at all, Regina thinks. First of all, she doesn't want him here while she completes this task, but if he must witness it, then so be it. And secondly, she'd rather fall into a deep sleep than actually die at his hand, and something must be done about his unneeded sense of heroism. Regina's hand flashes out in front of her body before he can blink an eye. She freezes him to the spot, contracting her hand muscles from ten feet away and feeling that familiar satisfaction of watching the air drain from his body as she crushes his trachea.

"How dare you threaten me in my own castle." Regina's voice has gone cold. Before it was dull and uncaring, but now she's angry. And an angry and cornered sorceress is not something this naive man should have come after.

He splutters and almost coughs, but his arrow remains trained on her heart.

"Even if you . . .choke the life out of me," he squeaks out, every word labored past the closing of his windpipe. "This arrow will leave my bow, and I never miss. Now . . . what manner of dark potion are you making?"

Regina drops her hand and releases him. Spluttering and coughing fills the chamber, and Regina turns back to her vanity, taking the vials in her hands tries again to remember the first step to mix up the elixir.

"It's a sleeping potion," she says resignedly. If he really wants to know, fine, let him know. But that won't stop her from going through with it. Let him tell the others why she did it, that is, if they ask.

"Like the one you used on Snow White."

Ah, he's knowledgeable about what happened in this kingdom. Good for him. Not as knowledgeable as he thinks, however.

"No.  _T_ _hat_  was from Maleficent. This one, I learned how to make on my own."

"That's why you keep sneaking away," Robin says. "That's why you wanted to be alone."

"Yes, well, it's difficult to put together a potion with Snow White and Robin Hood breathing down one's neck every second of the day."

"So, then, who's it for? Snow White again? The Wicked Witch?"

Ah, naive again. These people are nothing to her anymore. "The witch," she says dully. "I don't care about her."

"Then who do you plan to use it on?"

The vial glows purple as she waves her hand over it, completing the mixture and the spell that accompanies it. One more thing before it's finished. For a sleeping spell to work, the creator must have a certain hair, either the hair of the person sleeping, or the hair of the one who might wake the person someday. The potion differs depending on this.

"Don't worry. No one you'll miss," and then quieter, more to herself than anything. "No one anyone will miss."

A pin used to keep her hair in its tightly wound coif, she pulls from its position. A few stray hairs tumble down around her shoulders, tickling the exposed skin there. It's sharp, sharp enough to administer the potion to her bloodstream, one of the ways to administer this kind of elixir. There are three different ways for different potions, drinking or eating the potion, like Snow White's, injecting the potion directly into the bloodstream like Aurora's, and of course, the powdered sort that travels through the respiratory system. But this type will do just fine.

She dips it in the vial and swirls it around, contemplating the dream world and what it might be like in there. Henry's been in there, Snow and Charming, and of course Aurora. What it will be like, to wander the darkness, hopefully without feeling, she is not sure. If only she could have taken her heart out before. Then she would be certain not to feel.

A voice breaks her from her reverie. "This is about your son, isn't it?"

But when she doesn't answer, Robin goes on, stepping towards her again. "I can't let you do this."

Apparently, he hadn't learned the first time. She waves a hand without looking at him, freezing his feet to the stone floor. "It's a good thing you don't have a say in the matter."

"I know how you feel, Regina," he says, pleading with her, his eyes full of sadness and memories. "When I lost my wife, I didn't think I could go on. But then I found a reason. My son."

"That's where you and I differ," she spits, tears in her eyes. "I've already lost my son. I already lost the only thing I care about."

Regina holds out the sharp pin, staring at the glowing purple point intently. But Robin doesn't give up so easily.

"That doesn't mean you won't find a new reason," he pleads desperately. A sculpted brow raises in question. A new reason? What does he think, that it will be him?

"We all get a second chance, Regina. You just have to open your eyes to see it."

"Too bad mine will already be closed," she says and stands up, making her way to the balcony leading out to her private courtyard. Anyplace to get away from this man is his never-ending pleas for her to continue staying awake. That's not what Regina wants, and she doesn't want to hear any more of it.

"So that's it?" he demands, still tugging at his feet, trying to free them from the stone. "You're just giving up?"

"This isn't an end," Regina says with a small smile, because suicide isn't what she's looking for. She's tried that route before and couldn't go through with it. No, what she wants is a way out for a while. It might be cowardly, sure, but it's what she needs. "It's an eternal middle. This curse can be broken, but by the only true love in my life. And the only reason I would want to wake. My son."

"Regina, this is a mistake," he says, but his voice fades away as she leaves the room and walks out into the open night air. It's a mild night, the stars are so much brighter here, and they're different too. These constellations are like old memories, like faraway relatives she hasn't seen in a long time. Scanning the sky for the big dipper and Orion's belt has become second nature, but she doesn't see them, only the constellations of her childhood. Here in this world, she and Henry can't even share the same stars or moon.

The stone bench near the fountain is cold and hard, but Regina hardly notices as she stares down at the sharp pin. "I'm sorry, Henry. Maybe one day you'll find me and wake me up. But until then . . ."

The pin inches closer and closer to her finger, so close she can almost feel it pinch her skin, when something startles her. A bright cackle from directly behind her, around the other side of the fountain rings out in the semi-darkness. Regina spins around on the stone to stare at the intruder, the hair on the back of her neck standing straight up, and her magic prickling like static electricity inside her. This woman, leaned up against a broomstick, green skin, wide smile and gleaming blue eyes, is abundant with magic, that much Regina is sure of. But so much magic that she could break the blood barrier?

"You weren't even going to say hello first?" the woman asks in a sugar sweet voice, accent from a far-away place, one that reminds her of Rumpelstiltskin's somehow. "Not exactly the welcome I was expecting. What's a witch got to do to get your attention?"

Words won't form on her lips, and even if they did, Regina wouldn't know what to say. Green skin, broomstick, dark, familiar-looking dress. The Wicked Witch of the old stories, but why is she here? Before she can think another thought, the pin is whooshed away from her hand in a tiny cloud of green smoke. It reappears in the witch's hand, and the woman stares down at it.

"What's the matter, Regina?" the witch says gleefully. "Has life got you down?"

Regina stands up, steps around the fountain to see her adversary more clearly. The woman mimics her, also taking a step and squaring off. "None of your business," Regina says coldly. Why can't she be left alone for more than five minutes? Why? The woman who knows her name somehow tilts her head, gazing at Regina curiously.

"You really don't know who I am, do you?"

"I know exactly who you are. The Wicked Witch," Regina's mouth forms heavily over the words, like they taste bad in her mouth.

"Is that all you know about me?"

"I'm not that interested," Regina says, reaching out her hand to magic the pin back within her grasp, but through another cloud of green smoke, it disappears completely from the woman's green hand.

"Allow me to introduce myself," she says with a half-curtsy, and Regina gets a good look at the dress. That's why it seemed so familiar. "You can call me Zelena."

"That's my dress," Regina points out, and Zelena nods, smiling crookedly.

"Yes, it looks better on me, don't you think?"

Regina rolls her eyes, not willing to play games with this stranger, especially when she was so close to getting to sleep. "I think you never should have left Oz."

Zelena shrugs and begins walking in the opposite direction, running her hand along a carved stone statue. "You can have you castle back if you want it so badly. I was just trying it on for size. Besides," she says with a sideways grin towards Regina. "I've already seen everything worth seeing. Your closet, your gardens, your . . . crypt."

Ah, something Regina truly is curious about. "Yes, how did you break the blood barrier?"

"I didn't," Zelena says simply, looking around again at the castle grounds and then back at Regina.

"The door was open. No one's that powerful."

Green hands go to Zelena's hips, and she frowns at Regina. "Cora really never told you?"

"Told me what?"

"The truth about us, Regina." Everything about the woman seems so matter-of-fact and well planned out, and Regina hates nothing more than to be kept in the dark, to be one step behind an opponent. And talk about Cora riles her up in a way she doesn't quite know how to describe.

"What are you talking about? And how do you know my mother?"

"The same way you do," Zelena says. "I'm your sister."


	7. Chapter 7

**Land Without Magic - April 1st, 2013**

I don't know how the hell you know my kid's name. Either you're a mind reader or you really have been watching us all this time. Or, you're telling the truth about where you're from and I really have lost my memories. But I dismiss that last one as impossible and go on berating myself as I lead you both through alleyways and darkening streets back towards the apartment.

It's a terrible idea. I know, I know, I know. But what else can I do? You two are persistent, that much is for sure. And leaving you, trying to run away from you isn't going to work. What I can do is take you back, have you stay downstairs in the lobby; there's a little office in there with a cot and a couch. And that way I can keep my eye on you, make sure you're not trying to kill us, and maybe you'll get tired of trying to convince me of impossible things and just leave.

I've got a sinking feeling, however, that you and the one-handed guy aren't going anywhere for a while. Another feeling I'm having is that I probably should have just killed you both when I had the chance. Just a couple of bullets is all it would have taken. Just two squeezes of the trigger, maybe four because of the double tap rule. But I keep shaking my head, getting rid of those thoughts as soon as they enter my head. You're both alive. And human. I think.

And I can't just go around killing humans if I want this world to be a better place for my son to grow up in. And speaking of my son, I have every intention of keeping you and Captain Jack away from him for now. The last thing I need is a blood bath in my courtyard, our safe haven, all because two lunatics managed to trick me and convince me that they're trustworthy and A-Okay to bring back to my apartment.

As we approach the front gate, I smile to myself. It really is well-protected. It already had this courtyard built, with ten foot high fences and a gate in the front. Granted, we boarded up the bars so that no one can see inside, but any passerby probably wouldn't think twice about people actually being inside.

I've already got my plan for keeping my kid away from the both of you settled in my head, so I pull out my walkie talkie and press the button.

"Boston to Bronx," I say into it. He comes back right away. "Read you loud and clear Boston."

"Listen Bronx, we have a situation down here. I've got my key for the chains, but I'm gonna need you to go upstairs and wait for me there."

There's a pause, and I know exactly what he's doing. Looking around for a weapon first and then high tailing it to the second or third floor where he can see out the window at what I'm talking about. He comes back on in about two minutes, slightly out of breath. We should probably work more on his cardio.

"Everything okay?" His voice seems small, smaller than usual, and I know that he's scared, seeing me with these two people so I nod my head and pull my key out, smiling up at the window I'm guessing he's at.

"It's good. We have company, and you can meet them in the morning."

"Roger," he says, but he doesn't sound convincing. I don't blame him. Last time we had company, it didn't end well.

I look back at the two of you while I unlock the gate and pull it open, ushering you both inside. And as you pass by, you've still got that ghost-seeing expression on your face and I can't help but wonder why you've gotten it both times I've been on the radio. Showing you both around doesn't take long, seeing as how there isn't much to show, and I get you both situated in the small office, handing you spare blankets from the cabinet and telling you where to use the bathroom and how to get water if you need a drink.

I'm in a hurry to get away from both of you, to get up to my son and to hug him, to feel him and know that he's real. Because you two can't be real, you two are impossible and you've told me impossible things and my head still hurts because of it. So I tell you both goodnight, that we'll talk in the morning and then I trudge up the stairs and into our apartment, closing the deadbolts and making sure everything is secure before turning around.

And there's the kid, chewing on his lip, worried sick I'm sure about who these people are and why he wasn't allowed to meet them. All I tell him is that I met you both on my run and that you helped me save the guy from a zombie bite. I don't go into details of course, but he accepts it and asks how long you'll be staying. The look on his face tells me that he's excited to see some real people for a change. It's got to be hard being a young teenager and have absolutely zero social interactions besides with your mother.

I mean, I'm cool. I'm a cool mom. But that doesn't mean much to a teenager.

I tell him for a day, maybe two, depending on how long it takes to convince you both to leave, and he nods his head a little sadly. I'm sure he wants to get to know these new people, the sting of the last bunch of people we knew has hopefully already left him.

That night, I'm afraid to sleep. I'm afraid of a lot of things right now. Number one is the weird couple of people downstairs. I'm afraid that Jolly Roger is nuts, well, strike that, I know that he's nuts. And I'm afraid that you're nuts too. But I'm also afraid that you're not. I'm afraid that what you've told me is true. But that's only the second thing, and it's terrifying me. And the third thing is that I'm afraid to dream another crazy dream.

And then I hear a noise. My ears are finely tuned for noises. Out of place noises that catch my attention and send my heart racing. It's these kinds of noises that end up being worst case scenario noises, the kind where it's what you thought it probably was but hoped that it wasn't. The kind that end up turning into a life and death situation. So I shoot out of bed, nine millimeter gripped tightly in my hand. My bare feet silent assassins on the wooden floor, leading me noiselessly to my open bedroom door. It's dark in the living room, but I haven't turned on any lights and my eyes are still attuned to their night vision.

But I can't see anything out of the ordinary. Door is still closed, but I'm too far away to see if the bolts are locked the way I left them earlier. My first instinct is to turn the corner to my left and check on the kid, to see if it's him making the floorboards creak out here in the living room. And just as I'm turning to do that, something catches my eye.

A slight movement over by the couch. Just a hint of movement, just enough for my brain to say, 'wait a second'. I know that Henry would never sit on the couch in the middle of the night. He doesn't sleep walk. The kid is just the opposite actually, probably the soundest and stillest sleeper I've ever met. Must get it from his bastard father, because I'm awake at the smallest mousiest little noise. Although that could be attributed to the end of the world and constant threat of being killed and eaten.

But that slight movement at the couch is all it takes for me to spring into action. Five, six steps and I'm across the room, right behind the couch with my gun to their head. How the hell this person or walker or whoever got in here is beyond me, but they're about to wish they hadn't set foot in here. They're about to wish the thought hadn't even crossed their mind.

What doesn't cross my mind is the fact that it could be you sitting here on my couch. That doesn't cross my mind at all until I have my gun to the back of your head and my eyes finally adjust enough for me to make out the hair. And as the gun's muzzle makes initial contact with your skull, you jump slightly in surprise because there's no way you could've heard me coming. That's when it does cross my mind that it could be you. But what the hell? How the hell did you get in here?

You freeze, your hands still over what they're holding and I can see now what it is you're doing on the couch. You've got a photo album in your lap, your hands splayed across the top of it, and I imagine that a second before, you were running your hands gently over the top of it. I'll probably have a permanent crease between my eyebrows because I've been frowning so much lately.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I growl, and my voice is low, raspy from disuse, but every bit as intense and menacing as I intended.

Your shoulders scrunch up, cringing at my intrusion. Well, my intrusion upon your intrusion. But still you don't say anything, and although I'm feeling a little less threatened because I know it's you and not some random person in my apartment, you're still in here and I don't know how. My eyes flick over to the door, and sure enough, it's still locked, still bolted completely and shut securely. Maybe you can climb walls. Granted, there are only two fire escapes in the building; one is outside my room and the other is two floors down. And if I'm being honest here, there's no other way for you to get in.

"How did you get in here?" And finally you respond, relaxing your shoulders just a bit and turning to look at me. I pull the gun back enough to see your face, and as I step around the couch to stand in front of you, I can feel your eyes on me. I can't see them really, it's too dark and tonight there's no moon, but I can definitely feel them.

"I'm sorry," you say and your voice is so low and so quiet I can barely hear it. But you still don't move, still don't try to defend yourself against the gun pointed at you, so I relax my grip just a little. "I couldn't sleep. I didn't think you'd wake up."

I almost laugh. Almost. It's almost funny that you're in here, that you're sitting on my couch with your hands on my family's pictures, that you think I wouldn't wake up when you break into my house, that you're just sitting here, that this is so fucked up.

"How the  **hell**  did you get in here?" My voice gets growly again because you didn't answer my question.

"I . . . I'm sorry. I'll go." The floorboards creak again as you make to stand, and I take a step back; the gun comes back up, raises up to level with you.

"No!" I say, still not loudly enough to wake the kid, but loudly enough to get your attention. You freeze, and at this angle, I can just make out the contours of your face, the shine in your eyes. They're both wet. You've been crying. "Tell me how you got in. If you can get in, the walkers can get in."

You gesture around yourself sort of helplessly and then shrug. "I . . . used magic. I shouldn't have, I know."

"Magic," I say, my tone uneven. I know I saw this 'magic' earlier, even participated in it I think, but this is . . . I don't know what this is. I don't know what to think, so I say what I usually say in situations like this, although I've never had a situation like this before. "What the hell. What the hell!"

I lose sight of your eyes for a moment as you look down at your feet, like you also don't know what to think, or maybe you don't know what to say. How do you explain magic to someone like me? I guess I would be intimidated too, if it was me. But after a moment, you look up again, your eyes meet mine and your arms fold tightly over your chest, like you want to protect yourself. I lower my gun, move slowly around the couch in front of you.

"You can't deny that I have some sort of power, right?" You wait until I respond, until I show you that I'm with you, that I understand. But I'm not, so I can't really respond. You go on anyway. "May I show you again? So that you'll believe me?"

Sure, more magic tricks. Just what I needed for a little late night entertainment. After the day I've had, sure, why the hell not.

"I thought you said it was weak here?"

"It is. But I still have it, and I have it especially when in connection to you for some reason . . . " you trail off at that, and it looks like you don't get that part either. All right, let's just find out about this once and for all. I sit down next to you on the couch.

"Okay, show me again then." I inch closer to you, reaching to my side and holstering my weapon, meaning I just stick it into the waistband of my shorts. You reach out for me, slowly bring your hand to my skin.

You touch your hand to my forearm. And suddenly I feel that buzz, those bees and hornets zipping along through my blood and all along my nerves. It's a heady feeling, one that feels intoxicating.

Your opposite hand comes up between us and I'm sure my eyes go about as wide as they've ever been when I see it. The tips of your fingers are glowing blue and purple, like they were yesterday, sparking with electricity, just looking for something to jump to. And with a flick of your wrist, you've conjured a glowing orange fireball, swirling and gasping up oxygen, crackling merrily in the darkness. As it lights up your face, I look from the orange brightness to your face, and I can see the reflection of it in your eyes. But that's not all I see there; there's sadness, there's regret, and there's that look that I used to see on the streets with the drug users when they got their next hit.

It looks like you've scored a high, like you haven't done this in too long and it's the best damn feeling in the world. I understand that feeling right now. I can feel the power buzzing through me and it's electrifying. It's addicting. But before I can absorb any more of it into my system, you've tossed the fireball over to the wall and into the fireplace. For a moment there, I think you've just sent the whole building up in flames, but no, I realize you've just lit a fire with your magic fireball. You really have a magic fireball. Now I've felt it.

"This is crazy," I murmur as my eyes stay fixed on the flame. You're watching me and when I realize this, I look at you, eyes still glowing like whiskey and dark chocolate and that fire.

"You've said that already, dear," your voice is teasing, still low and raspy though as you let go of my forearm. The buzzing stops, but the tension between us is still there. I need to diffuse it.

"Okay, then explain." It's demanding I know, and you're being quite patient, sitting back down on my couch and looking so damn familiar to me that I don't even know what to do with myself. Maybe I'm going crazy too. And then you start talking.

You tell me that you're going to try and keep it brief and as simple as possible to eliminate the need for questions, but I have so many questions.

But then your voice takes off, meandering up and down wild adventures and into fairytales and through other worlds and I'm mesmerized by you. Then my mind goes numb at all of the characters you mention. You speak of Snow White and Prince Charming, who are my parents apparently, and an Evil Queen. You're the evil queen, and you wanted your revenge on Snow White for ruining your life and so cursing them all to a quiet little town in Maine where they wouldn't get their happy endings was your greatest idea.

And, another brilliant idea, my parents sent me first through a portal so that I would be safe from you, and that's how I came to be an orphan. And then apparently I had Henry and gave him up and then he found me and brought me back to break the curse. And then so much more happened, but for right now the foremost important thing I know is that another curse has been enacted, and it wasn't you this time. This time, you sent me and Henry away because we weren't really of that world you were about to be sent back into.

Oh, and the second most important thing I know is that a witch, Zelena, wants her revenge on you and my mother, Snow White, for something you two did on accident, you don't go into details, but it has to do with the first curse. And she's cast a curse on Snow White and Prince Charming, putting them in a deep sleep. Apparently I'm the only who can break this curse. Perfect.

And although I ask for more details, for an actual explanation of what this other land is all about, you tell me that it's not possible to describe it all now, that everything is so interconnected and convoluted that it would take days to explain it all. It just sounds ridiculous. It sounds unbelievable, and the fact that you don't want to go into more detail gives me pause. There's just no way.

I blink, running my hands through my hair and massaging my temples with my fingertips, looking down at the floor. After a moment, I look up into your eyes, incline my head to downstairs.

"So, he's Captain Hook and you're the Evil Queen?"

A cringe ripples through your features and I feel like that's something I shouldn't have said. "That's what they called me, yes."

"You don't seem so bad," I say, because it's true. You seem crazy, sure, but not evil. If all this is for real, then I really am going to need an explanation as to how you were so mad at this Snow White that you wanted to curse her and everyone she loved into oblivion.

"The original curse happened because of me. I ruined people's lives. Although, some of them deserved it."

I'm quiet, waiting for something to pop into my brain to say. You go on when I don't speak. "And as for this most recent curse . . . I'm the reason you and Henry have new memories. I sent you away."

"What do you mean by that, you sent me away?"

"I mean that there was another curse. Someone else's curse to send us all back to the Enchanted Forest, but like I said, you and Henry are not of that world, so to save you heartbreak of losing your family again, and to make things easier, I gave you a happy ending of sorts, or a fresh start."

"But why would you do that?"

Your face looks heartbreaking. "Because . . . It was because of Henry. He was my son, too. I raised him from when he was a baby, while you were . . . incarcerated."

You know I was in prison. Jesus. My head is swirling. These things fit together, but how can they? How can this make sense? How can he have been yours too?

"How do you know these little details! Christ. It sounds like a crazy story, one I could never believe and then you throw in these facts that are completely accurate."

I'm upset and scared and it's starting to show. "How do you know all of this?" I stand up, advancing on you slowly, almost threateningly. It's too much for me to comprehend and I feel threatened. Your son? He's your son too? And now a small voice in the back of my head is telling me that you want to take him from me. And that's something that will never happen. Not while I'm alive.

But you look unfazed that I'm threatening you, and you hold your hands up in front of you. A small wave hits me, like a rush of air, like the promise of something that could be more powerful.

"Because it's true. I know all of this because it's true," And then you hesitate, searching for something in my eyes, searching for the tiniest bit of recognition. "You haven't had any sort of flashbacks? No strange dreams or sudden flashes of strange environments?"

God you're good. You could probably make money at the psychic business, the way that you read people. Either that, or you're really telling the truth here. My silence says it all for me, and you nod knowingly.

"What have you dreamed about?"

Hesitation seems to be my undoing tonight, and I'm still pacing in front of the couch, running a hand through my hair which needs a wash and brushing badly. Finally, I look up at you and you're just sitting there, grimy from your journey but still pristine and straight-backed, hands folded in your lap, waiting for my response.

"The town you were talking about. What did you say the name of it was again?"

"Storybrooke."

And just like that, my vivid dream about this clock tower and town by the water and a city limits sign that says none other than 'Entering Storybrooke' comes back to me in sharp relief. You can see the recognition all over my face, and a hint of a smile tugs at your lips, at that strange scar on your right side.

"And the clock tower is broken, right?" I ask slowly.

A sharp intake of breath from you, and another tugging smile. "It was," you say quietly, your voice growing raspy in this late hour. "Until you came and broke the curse."

I shake my head. This is too much. It's just a coincidence that I've been having these dreams and that these people have shown up. It's not unlucky Rule #13 I tell myself, it's just a bad coincidence. It doesn't mean anything, and I can't handle anything else, any more crazy information.

"Okay," I say, holding my own hands out. "Fine, whatever. But go back downstairs and sleep and I'll come get you in the morning and go to whatever it is you want to show me."

This has been more than enough for one night. If I have any more information crammed into my brain, I think I'll explode. I walk to the door, unlatch it and pull it open, watching you as you stride slowly past me. "I can't trust you if you keep breaking in here. I'm already scared enough."

Your lips contract in a tight, understanding smile. "You're right. I'm sorry. Tomorrow then. We'll talk about all this in the morning?"

"Sure," I nod, although all I want is for you to go and for me to sit in silence and think about this mess of a dilemma you've just presented me with. And then I don't want to think about it anymore. I want to sleep, and I want to make sure Henry is okay and still safe in his bed, still blissfully unaware of the new life that's just been hung over our heads like a fucking Christmas ornament. I also want to have a fucking drink of whiskey, but I don't have any of that. None at all. I'd probably give Captain Sparrow's hook for a swig of rum. Or twenty. I'll be sure to ask him if he brought any along from the Jolly fucking Roger.

I'm laughing deliriously to myself as I check on the kid and he's fine, and if I'm honest with myself, he'll probably eat this up. He'll absolutely love the thought of a new adventure and something other than the world going to hell, hand in hand with brain-eating zombies.

And later, after I've tossed and turned for another hour or two, I fall into a fitful sleep, unable in sleep to resist the dreams.

This time the dream progresses farther into the town, and now the faceless people show up more often, sprinting around corners to avoid me, and sometimes a hazy purple smoke follows in their wake. The clock tower is still broken and when I get to the town hall, I see the door again. And I'm so close to it, so very close. But it's locked. I haven't tried the handle yet because I know that I shouldn't, but it's definitely locked. I can just feel it.


	8. Chapter 8

**_The Enchanted Forest_ **

Regina stares at the woman claiming to be her sister, looking her up and down, searching her face for similarities. How can it be possible? A sister?

"Actually," Zelena says with a shrug. "Half sister, but details, details."

"That's . . ." Regina shakes her head. "That's not possible."

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"You're," the brunette hesitates, looking the other woman up and down. "You're green."

"And you're rude," Zelena scowls, flipping her auburn hair as she turns and stalks a few steps away. "Cora had me first, before she wormed her way up into the dregs of royalty." She turns back to Regina with a sly smile. "You know I'm telling the truth. How else could I have entered your castle and crypt?"

"But . . ." Regina frowns, how can it be? Zelena reads the confusion on her face and answers before Regina can go on.

"Our mother gave me up and sent me away. That's why we never knew each other," Zelena says bitingly, stepping closer again and giving Regina the once over. "But you . . . you she kept. You she gave everything you wanted."

"Everything  _she_  wanted," Regina scoffs, she crosses her arms, thoughts flying back to her childhood and teenage years, remembering all too well what it was like to grow up with a mother like Cora, a woman who wanted nothing but power and prestige, a woman who would sacrifice even true love for that power. "If what you're saying is true, then you were lucky to escape her."

"Enough with the martyr complex, Regina. Try growing up without a mother at all."

Regina shakes her head. This woman has no idea. No idea at all how awful it was, the scars she still has, mental and physical. Some things were good, and there was opportunity for redemption, but more than likely, Cora would have never changed.

"Not only that," Zelena goes on while Regina is lost in thought. "But try growing up knowing that no one thought you were good enough. Not even your mother. Not even the only man who crossed both of our paths."

At this, Regina pauses. A man who crossed both their paths? But they were from different worlds. A man connecting Cora to the both of them. "And who is that?"

Zelena doesn't hesitate and the answer hits Regina like a stack of bricks. "Rumpelstiltskin, of course."

"You knew Rumpelstiltskin?"

"I certainly did. In fact," Zelena says slowly, drawing out the words for a more dramatic effect. "He is my father. How else do you think I became this powerful?"

"Your father?" Regina's mouth hangs open. But why the green skin? And how did she end up in Oz? And why did Cora never say anything?

"I didn't find out until I was older, in fact, Rumpelstiltskin didn't even know at the time."

"I don't think I understand. Why would you be angry with me? It's your parents who did this to you. Is it jealousy?"

"No, no Regina. Something far worse. Far worse than simple envy. Despite being abandoned by the both of them, I made something of myself, dear. And I'll have my revenge on them soon, don't you worry."

"It's too bad they're not around to see how well you turned out," Regina says scathingly and almost smiles at the confused expression on her half-sister's face. "They're both dead."

Zelena's body goes rigid and her eyes dart around for a moment, but she recovers quickly. "That's all right. You're the only one I need alive."

"Really? Why is that?"

"Because it's your fault I lost my true love. You and your selfish curse. You and Rumplestiltskin and that dreadful curse. You'll pay for that. And I'm going to take everything away from you if you refuse to do what I say."

"Too late. I've already lost everything that matters."

"Oh no, Regina. You haven't lost anything yet."

"So you  _are_  going to kill me," Regina says and feels a strange sense of relief that courses through her veins. Another threat. Well, maybe this one will actually go through with it. Because no one ever does.

"No. That's too easy," Zelena says, her long fingers supporting her tilted head thoughtfully. "First, I want you to see why I'm seeking vengeance. And after you do what I ask, you can get back to your miserable life here in your lonely castle. And after that you'll have to live with the knowledge that you personally ruined my life."

"This is ridiculous," Regina growls, but the mysterious woman ignores her, turning to the fountain before them and pointing her finger at it, sending a zap of green magic to swirl the water inside until it becomes murky and milky-white.

"Take a look. We'll watch it from the beginning. My sordid past and what part you played in it."

And sure enough, the opaque liquid transforms into a spinning wheel of twisted colors, turning and turning until finally they form an image. Regina looks closer. It's like a screen, a television screen of sorts, displaying a moving picture of Zelena's past. Except it is Regina's past too.

It's Cora, a much younger Cora, visiting a familiar castle. She's delivering flour to a king, and soon two more familiar faces come into view. Princess Eva, Snow White's mother, and Prince Henry, her own father.

"This is where it starts," Zelena says softly, watching alongside Regina. "The day before Eva's birthday party, where Prince Henry is searching for a prospective bride, also where Cora openly defied the king and the princess. And the king humiliated her, forcing her to see what she really was: a common peasant."

The image changes, and Cora is in different clothing, formal evening wear and standing in the doorway to a lavish party. She's crashing the birthday party, face set in an expression of determination to get back at Eva for embarrassing her. But her plan is foiled when King Xavier and Princess Eva recognize her and call her out in front of the entire party.

But Cora behaves as Regina expects, holding her head high and claiming for some reason that she is not just a simple miller's daughter, that she is capable of spinning straw into gold. A lie, definitely, one to save face, and it costs her dearly. As punishment, Regina watches with wide eyes, King Xavier tells Cora that if she can indeed spin straw into gold, she can have Prince Henry's hand in marriage, and if not, she will be killed for her open defiance.

The next scene shows Cora stuck in a room, surrounded by straw with a spinning wheel she has no idea how to use, and that's when she calls upon Rumpelstiltskin to help her. Regina had always wondered exactly how this meeting had gone, and now she knows, she can see firsthand the effect Rumple has on Cora, initial fear and distrust: the glittery, scaly appearance doesn't help. But when Rumple begins to spin the gold, Cora's eyes light up with greed, with the notion of power, with the beginnings of a plan for revenge.

"Lovely couple, don't you think?" Zelena says quietly beside her, but her expression says the opposite: anguish, regret, longing for her real family. If only she knew the truth of it, Regina thinks.

"I wasn't aware they were lovers."

"Oh yes," Zelena says, nodding. "Cora won Prince Henry's hand the next morning when she showed up with spun gold, but the wedding took a year to plan, and Cora spent most of it with Rumpelstiltskin, learning magic and traveling."

"Traveling to where?"

"Watch," Zelena directs Regina's attention back to the next scene in the water, which must be at least a couple months later, where the Dark One and Cora stand in Rumple's castle. He is summoning someone into the room, and a pair of guards escort a familiar-looking man wearing a purple top hat and a velvet blazer.

_"Geoffrey," Rumple says, holding his arms wide and submitting his impish smile to the newcomer. "Welcome. I'd like you to meet my newest student. This is Cora."_

_"Cora," Geoffrey says with a bow as he takes her hand and kisses it. "What a pleasure."_

_Cora simply nods and looks to Rumple, desire and longing written all over her face. Regina had no idea they were so close._

_"Let's get to it then, shall we?"_

_"Of course," Geoffrey says, whipping off his hat with a flourish. "Where would you like to go?"_

All at once Regina realizes why the man looks so familiar. He is the spitting image of Jefferson, the Mad Hatter. This man must be his father, another portal-jumper from Wonderland. The hat is one and the same, and Regina figures it must be a family-business.

_"Today, I'd like to take Cora to Oz."_

_"Oz," Geoffrey grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "A fine world, indeed. You know, I heard they recently found a new leader, a man on a balloon who is planning on uniting all four territories."_

_"Interesting," Rumple says with a raised eyebrow, taking Cora's hand and stepping towards the man. With a whoosh, the hatter tosses the hat up in the air, giving it a great spin with his hands and it falls to the floor, immediately opening up a portal._

_"To Oz!" The Hatter yells over the whirling wind and with a leap, the three of them jump inside._

Regina turns slightly to look at her half-sister. "So that's where you come in?"

"Not quite yet. But soon."

The water swirls again and now Regina can see Oz. It doesn't look quite like the imaginative minds of movie-makers in Hollywood thought, but as the scene grows closer and closer, a bird's eye view, drifting slowly to the earth, Regina can spot a yellow brick road under construction, with paths reaching out in all four cardinal directions. And at the center is a brilliantly green-lit metropolitan center. The emerald city.

That city is where the scene ends up, inside the main building of the castle, but instead of Rumple, Cora and the Hatter traveling together, now it is only Cora and the Hatter. Where Rumple has gone off to, Regina hasn't a clue. She's about to turn and ask Zelena when she sees Cora's face close up.

_"Now, Geoffrey, where is this nice family you told me so much about?"_

_"Right this way, ma'am," Geoffrey says, arm stretched to the side, and Cora follows his direction down a deserted hallway. He turns to Cora as they walk. "Are you sure you want to do this?"_

_Cora shoots him a murderous glare, one Regina is all too familiar with. "Of course I do. I wouldn't have gone through all this trouble, avoiding Rumple and lying to every person back in the Enchanted Forest if this wasn't absolutely necessary."_

_"Right, of course ma'am," the man hesitates, his eyes shifting from side to side nervously. "But if it's not too bold, may I ask why you think this is best?"_

_"It is too bold, you intrusive imbecile," Cora says coldly, but she goes on, eyes hardening as she speaks. It gives Regina chills. "But if you must know, I simply can't afford to have Henry know I've had a child. And this child in particular would draw quite a few stares and attention, don't you think?"_

_The Hatter hesitates, unsure what to say, because one wrong answer, he knows, could cost him dearly._

As Cora walks, Regina can see her better, and notices now that she's been carrying something the whole time. Cora looks down at the bundle, grimacing slightly at it and tsks under her breath. Regina realizes this must be nine months later, right after Cora gave birth to Zelena. And it seems as though she's giving the baby up, hiding her mistake with Rumple in a completely different realm, hiding a child away from two different men.

In many ways, it is a cowardly and selfish thing to do, especially considering how people in Regina's life handled situations like this. The Charmings giving up their daughter to an unknown world, for her best chance. And Emma, doing the same with Henry. But if Emma hadn't given Henry up for his best chance, Regina would never have had him in her life, and the curse would never have been broken. But Emma didn't have much of a choice; she was in a bad place in her life, certainly not in a position to be raising a child.

However, Regina ponders, Cora had her own interests at heart, knowing that if she had this baby and kept it in the Enchanted Forest, Cora would never become royalty and the baby certainly would never see the throne. And if that had happened, Regina would never have been born.

"So she gave you up to become royalty."

"Yes, because my skin color would never be accepted and because I was the product of an illicit, adulterous affair. Granted, Cora and Henry weren't married, yet."

"You were green, even then?" Regina asks, looking back into the water, squinting at the bundle to see her half-sister. She turns back to meet Zelena's glare.

"Yes. I was born green and I've been green ever since. It's one of the reasons I'm considered wicked," Zelena says sardonically, and her eyes flash with anger. "Not to mention my notable powers, considering I'm the product of a powerful sorceress and the Dark One."

"Indeed," Regina says thoughtfully and continues to watch the scene play out.

_Cora and the Hatter make their way to a small, quiet room, just short of what looks like the main hall. A family waits there, a mother with a baby cradled in her arms and a father who looks rather apprehensive._

_"Geoffrey," the man says, releasing his wife's shoulder and stepping towards the hatter to clasp hands in welcome. "You made it."_

_"Of course, of course. Now, for the exchange."_

_Cora hands off the baby to the father, and when he sees the child, his gasp of surprise is audible throughout the room._

_"Is there a problem?" Cora seethes, straightening her dress and standing up tall._

_"No. No, of course not," the man stutters. "It's just . . ."_

_"Now, Your Eminence, remember. I told you the child was different. And that she would make a perfect companion to your own daughter as they grow up."_

_"Yes, of course," the man nods vigorously, and he chances a nervous look at Cora. He must have been previously warned about her angry streak. The baby in his wife's arms makes gurgling noises as she shuffles closer to him, wanting a closer look at the newest addition to their family. She smiles widely at the happy, green-skinned baby in her husband's arms._

_"She's beautiful," the woman says and looks up at Cora, eyes wide with gratitude. Her eyes also look a little glazed, like she might be drunk or under the influence of drugs. "Thank you so much for this gift. Our own baby's legs were badly deformed during the birth, and she'll need help her entire life."_

_"You're welcome," Cora says, grinding out a smile for the woman. "But it's you I should be thanking for so readily agreeing to keep her."_

_The woman stays quiet, and if she and her husband have any more thoughts on Cora and the reasons for her giving up her strange newborn, they do not voice them._

The water swirls again, Zelena meets her half sister's eyes and they are blazing with hatred.

"Our mother abandoned me to this family in a foreign world, like I was . . .trash or some sort of  _monster_ ," she spits the word. "And she sneaked back, Rumpelstiltskin was none the wiser that she was even with child, and she promptly dumped him for your father."

"After taking her heart out first," Regina says with a glance at the ground. How awful to find out that one's mother never loved her husband, that she married only for power and to now learn that Cora had shunned her love for that same power. "Yes, I've heard that part. The family she left you with, were they that bad?"

Zelena shakes her head. "For the most part, no. But I was never loved, not even by my adoptive mother. She spent all her time drunk and cheating on her husband. Maybe by Nessa, my sister, but she rarely voiced it. And the Eminent Thropp, my adoptive father, all but resented me."

"Why?"

"Another mouth to feed. A child who drew unwanted attention on his formerly pristine family life, and it didn't help that he was religious, a preacher of sorts, and that I represented to him things that were wicked and sinful in the world. When I turned five and my adoptive mother died, he grew bitter and blamed her death on me."

"It wasn't your fault though, was it?"

"Of course not. He just needed someone to blame. And I was an easy target for that. I was always an easy target."

Regina stays quiet. What do you say to a woman who's been wronged her entire life, who feels that she has no other option but to lash out at everyone who crosses her path? Personally, Regina knows what it's like to want to hurt everything that comes near you.

"So Rumple never knew?"

"No one did, not even me until my adoptive father was dying, and on his deathbed he told me I was adopted, which wasn't really a surprise to me, considering how they treated me. That to meet my real parents, I would need to visit the wizard."

"And did you finally meet Rumplestiltskin?"

"Through the wizard, I did," Zelena says and points back down at the fountain.

The water swirls through scenes of Zelena's life, of taking care of Nessa, a wheelchair bound, dark-haired girl. From the brief memories, Regina can plainly see that the girl was demanding and sometimes cruel, and she can feel nothing but pity for her half-sister. She was still persecuted and discriminated against because of her skin color in Oz, even though that was Cora's reason for giving her up in the Enchanted Forest. But on the bright side, however, and what Zelena doesn't realize, is that she didn't have to grow up under Cora's thumb and the influence of dark and oppressive magic.

Later, the swirling water shows both Zelena and Nessa going off to school, to University where magic doesn't seem to be a bad thing, where they have special classes for those gifted few with magical potential, and talking Animals are professors and the two sisters are roommates together.

Regina watches as Zelena meets a blonde girl, a perky, outspokenly popular girl who seems the exact opposite of Zelena. Despite their differences, they somehow gravitate towards each other, both of them possessing considerable magical powers and rising through the ranks of Oz's influential people.

And there seems to be a growing attraction between the two girls; one day they're fighting about clothes and popularity and the next day the argument has morphed into an agreement on Animal rights and freedom of expression and religion before Regina can bat an eye, the swirling water offers a brief glimpse into the girls' personal relationship.

They embrace in deserted hallways, stealing kisses and defying expectations about what good, popular girls and unpopular girls should be doing with their lives.

"Who is this?" Regina asks, indicating the blonde woman whom Zelena is now watching so ardently. Her half-sister hastily wipes tears from her eyes.

"Glinda," Zelena says, her voice rough and gravelly. "Everything was going so well, until I heard news that my adopted father was gravely ill, and Nessa and I traveled back home to see him once more. It's like I said before, he told me on his deathbed that I was adopted. And so I had to see the Wizard to meet my real family, to find out why they would abandon me."

"And what did you find out?"

"The Wizard showed me how to connect a portal between the two worlds using my looking glass, and Rumpelstiltskin appeared in it, astounded that I was who I said. I found out that he didn't know about me, that our mother hid that from him as well, and although he was preoccupied looking for his son, he was happy to have a daughter. For a while, he doted on me, giving me gifts and teaching me more powerful magic than I already knew. He gave me a pair of marvelous silver slippers. They had magical properties; of what caliber, he didn't say, but then I gave them to my sister and they helped with her disability, allowing her to finally walk."

"Whatever happened to Geoffrey? Why didn't he tell Rumple what happened? Why didn't he bring Rumple back to you?"

"Cora happened to Geoffrey. That's why Rumpelstiltskin never came back all those years, but really, what reason did he have? Portals had been mostly closed to travel after Cora murdered the Mad Hatter in Wonderland so that he wouldn't spill her secret, leaving the hat with his son so that the line of portal travelers wouldn't be totally lost. Sometimes his son, Jefferson, would travel with Rumplestiltskin through the realms, but rarely to Oz because it reminded him of Cora."

Regina shakes her head; she should be surprised at the sound of her mother's cold blooded murder to cover up her secret, but she is not. Not after hearing about her mother's other murders and heart-taking in Wonderland. Not after experiencing her mother firsthand and then going on to repeat the same mistakes herself years later.

But those thoughts flee quickly from her mind; thoughts instead of Zelena with the beautiful blonde woman are hovering annoyingly at the front.

"And everything was good, or getting better at least. Granted, he was never fully here, was never fully committed to having me as a daughter. I think he was frustrated not being able to find his son, and he had some sort of war to wage on people from another land. But everything else was good. Glinda and I were growing close to the Wizard, and we wanted to work with him to unite the four territories, to improve the rights of the Animals..."

"Until . . ." Regina knows something must have happened, something to set things in motion for Zelena. The other shoe must drop.

"Until he realized that I was more powerful than he was prepared for, that I had more potential than even you, his most promising student."

"You," Regina scoffs. "More powerful than me?"

Zelena simply smiles. "That's what Rumpelstiltskin thought. Silly man. He wanted the slippers back, said they were of no use to me anymore, but secretly I think they contained more power than he intended for me to possess. When I told him that I had given them to Nessa, he was angry with me, and I only understood why that was later on. He showed me, like I'm showing you now, scenes of you learning magic, developing your skills, and descending down that same path your mother, our mother, went down."

A shadow falls over Regina's face. "Don't talk to me about descending into darkness."

"Oh pish tosh," Zelena waves her hand dismissively. "Rumpelstiltskin showed me all of it, what Snow did to you, Cora killing your love, and how that helped you find enough motivation to enact his curse. And I continued watching you before it happened, Glinda and I both. We knew it wouldn't be good. Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't say specifically what it was about, only that his son might be in this new world that everyone would be going to. But no one knew the consequences, but whatever they were, they couldn't be anything good. Nothing that required such dark magic could be."

"So the fact that Rumpelstiltskin chose me to enact this curse isn't causing any of this animosity between us?"

Zelena scoffs. "It doesn't help. But when he realized that I had this potential and that I had this drive, he didn't know what to do with it. I suppose he thought I would take his curse and do something worse with it, like somehow find his dagger and obtain his Dark One powers. He decided to turn against me, to shut me down before I could become powerful enough to travel the realms and challenge him."

"So let me guess, he turned the people against you?"

"He did. He turned the Wizard against me, and the rest of the people followed. The Animal rights issue was a hot topic at that time, and he and the Wizard cast a spell throughout Oz, halting all talking from the Animals and putting a damper on the progressive movement.

And I never got my chance to visit the Enchanted Forest to meet my mother, to meet you. Instead, people in Oz began to think I was the villain, and then I became the one to blame for disorder and corruption with the Munchkins and the other oppressed people of Oz. I became the Wicked Witch, and even my sister was partially blamed for the hard times the realm was facing. And Rumpelstiltskin didn't help. I was becoming too powerful, Glinda and I and my sister were all powerful, but Glinda and I at least, we were good, and we wanted to make things better. "

"And what of Glinda? You obviously love her. What happened to her?"

The answer is swift and unmerciful.

"What happened to her?!" Zelena shouts, turning on Regina, eyes blazing. Her hands, she holds to the side and green smoke swirls from her fingertips. "You happened to her! Your curse happened to her!"

The water sloshes around in the fountain, some of it splashes out onto the stone as the images twist and morph violently, turning into a purple smokey mass. Regina recognizes her magic there, the purple billowing smoke, enveloping the land.

"You have to be the most selfish person in all the realms, Regina!" Zelena yells, raising her hands up into the air and Regina watches, astounded, as lightning and electricity discharges from the sky onto her half-sisters fingers. "You and that bastard Rumpelstiltskin, for enacting a curse that you didn't fully comprehend. Neither of you realized that a curse of that magnitude would have rippling effects on all realms!"

"Rippling effects," Regina repeats uncomprehendingly, brows furrowed.

"Yes. When you enacted your curse, it set off a chain reaction and in Oz, a cyclone tore through the lands, bringing that little wench Dorothy from the Land with No Color, landing her house on my sister, and the very same cyclone took away my Glinda."

"A cyclone?" Regina's eyes go wide, disbelieving.

"Oh yes, Regina." Zelena spits, and her body language screams aggression and anger and the need for redemption. "I watched you prepare for the curse, watched you spiral down into a dark enough place to enact the curse and knew that when you finally did, something bad would happen. I could just feel it. And it did, it certainly did. It set off cyclones and portals and twisting worlds. It's your fault and now you're going to help me find her."

Her hand shakes as she points back to the water; it changes scenes again and Regina watches it all unfold.

_The sky darkens rapidly, unexpectedly as Zelena and Glinda lay side by side on a blanket in a field of poppies, not far away from a castle in the distance, enjoying what looks like a picnic. Zelena's sister, it must be her because she's got the same dark hair, but now she's running awkwardly along the road in a pair of silver heels, the magical slippers that allow her to walk, and waving her arms frantically at the unaware pair._

_The wind picks up and carries the sound of Nessa's voice elsewhere, and Zelena and Glinda do not hear her until too late._

_But before either of them can stop it or protect themselves, an enormous twister emerges from the cloud, descending upon them with astonishing winds._

_The scene is as dramatic as any movie Regina has seen. Nessa is already at the fence, holding onto a post for dear life, motioning and begging for her adopted sister to get there faster, as if a rickety fence post is enough to save them from such an enormous storm. Zelena reaches the fence first, manages to hold onto a post, her green hand contrasting, even in the dusty wind, sharply with Glinda's as the blonde finally reaches the sisters. Zelena holds onto Glinda tightly, shutting her eyes against the wind and the strain of her exertions._

_The howls and dust fills their eyes, and their grip on each other loosens second by second, the wind is becoming too much, and not even their combined magic can hold Glinda to the earth. She is whipped away, swirling around the vortex and in her place, a medium-sized house spins towards Zelena and Nessa. All the dust in the air prevents either of them from seeing it properly and Regina watches in horror as it lands right next to Zelena and directly on top of her sister._

_There's no way anyone could have survived something like that._

_Two of the only family Zelena has left in the world and they're both gone within thirty seconds of each other._  The next moments are difficult to watch, but Regina keeps her eyes open.  _Zelena falls apart, her knees hit the ground hard and her head swivels back and forth between the still form of her sister and the cyclone that disappeared back into the dark cloud it descended from._

_A crowd of people appears on the horizon, carrying pitchforks and short swords and all other manner of weapons, jeering and taunting and screaming for the death of the witch. Zelena, lost in her own misery, must make a decision before they reach her._

_Flee the scene and try to recover, to pull herself back together enough to go on and save her love someday, or stay and let the mob have her. She stands up, summons her broom, taking one last look at her sister's still form and realizes too late that the crowd will get its hands on the silver shoes. And just then, as she rises higher and higher on the calming winds, Zelena catches sight of a young girl stepping from the house that landed on her sister._

_The crowd of people, seeing that the girl has landed on the Wicked Witch of the East, celebrates her and lauds her as a hero and Zelena is nearly sick in the air as she flies farther and farther away._

_Zelena's mouth opens in a silent, anguished wail,_  and the water ripples and blurs again with a brusque wave of Zelena's hand.

"You're going to help me find her," she repeats, the memory of that day still fresh and evident on her face. Regina feels awful for her, but she can't help but also feel backed into a corner, and allowing herself to be forced into something is not exactly her style. Zelena is a powerful witch. If she wants so badly to find Glinda, if she's even alive still, she can manage it on her own. Regina has other things on her mind, other things to mope about.

"And if I don't?"

"Oh, you will. If not out of the goodness of your heart, then I will find a way to force you. You see, I knew magic behaved differently in other lands, but here, I'm simply not as powerful. I can't open portals by myself, but you can, Regina. And you're going to find Glinda, if it's the last thing you do."

Regina looks down at the water, thinking back to the spells Zelena had thus far performed. None of them required any particularly powerful magic. She's right, though. To wield any sort of magic strong enough to open a portal or direct for that matter, where the travelers end up, a person needs a considerable amount of power. But in all honesty, this isn't her fight. This whole situation isn't even her fault.

"You know, I wasn't the only one who originally wanted the curse enacted, right?"

"Yes, I'm aware of Rumpelstiltskin's part in this whole act. Well aware. He is going to play his part in my production as well. But you did want your revenge on Snow White"

Regina nods. That much is true, but she doesn't regret it for a minute. "And it's not my fault Cora abandoned you. If you wanted revenge, it should have been on her."

Zelena fumes at this, whirling on Regina again, and her face colors a darker shade of green. "You got everything!" she screams, her fury returning as easily as it faded away. "Everything I ever wanted. A family, a good life, a true teacher and people who looked up to you! A land with people who obeyed you! You got it all because your skin just happened to be the right shade. And if it hadn't been for your senseless and blind need for vengeance, I would still have my Glinda. Or at least, I would have been the one to enact the curse. Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't have had another choice."

Regina's mouth gapes open, astounded at the wrath her half-sister is pouring out. Zelena's idea of exactly how Regina's life is skewed.

"I came after you, you know. After both you and Cora, after the curse hit and took Glinda and Nessa away."

Looking into the blazing eyes, Regina arches an eyebrow. "You came to the Enchanted Forest? How?"

"After those wretched Munchkins encouraged Dorothy, the girl from the cyclone, to take Nessa's silver shoes off her crushed body, they told her she was the best hope they had to defeat me. How she was going to that, I haven't the slightest. I was the enemy of the state after Rumple turned everyone against me, and even the Wizard wanted me dead. He sent Dorothy after me, along with a couple other Ozians whom I might have cursed and angered along the way."

She pauses then, looking sheepish. Regina knows how that goes.

"And I knew that the shoes were the key to traveling through the worlds. That's why Rumple was so upset that I had let them out of my sight. He knew they were powerful too. It didn't take much for me to capture the stupid girl, with the help of my flying friends," Zelena inclines her head up towards one of the ramparts, and Regina follows her line of sight. One of the winged beasts sits, muscles coiled and ready, wings folded at its back, at the top of the wall, watching everything closely.

"I took the shoes from her, tossed her directly into the open portal, sending her one way, and myself to the Enchanted Forest."

"How did you know where to go?"

Zelena shrugs. "I'd seen Rumpelstiltskin do it dozens of times with the Wizard. But by the time I got there, your curse had long taken effect, and Cora had already gone from the land, back to the Land without Magic, and as soon as I landed, I searched far and wide for Glinda, but I couldn't find her. So I took up residence in your castle and waited."

Taking a step towards her half-sister, Zelena sneers menacingly.

"And now here you are, so it's perfect. Now I will take all of your happiness from you, the same way you had to take Snow White's and everyone else's happiness."

"Too late," Regina mumbles, looking down, and wishing that cursed needle was still in her grasp. She's still left with a dull reminiscent ache. "Everything I love is already gone."

"I'm sure I can figure something out," she says. "We're sisters, after all. Our blood runs the same, so I know you've got some weakness. I just have to figure out what it is."

Regina watches as her half-sister conjures a broom from thin air, snapping her fingers and there it is. She straddles the handle and floats into the air, smiling at Regina all the while. Her erratic behavior and sharp mood swings worry Regina about this woman's mental stability.

"Come now, Chistery," Zelena calls out as she rises higher and higher above the castle walls, a bizarre laugh screeches behind her as she and the monkey fly away. "See you later, sis!"


	9. You like the Yankees too?

**April 2, 2013**

I wake up that next morning, like any other morning, sleepy and ready to take on the fucked up world again, ready for another day of our usual survival trials, but then it all comes crashing back down on me. It all falls down around my ears because I remember all that you and I talked about last night. I remember everything. The fucking fairytales and the fucking zombies and everything about this past fucked up two days that I didn't want to remember and still do. I leave my room, still thinking that you're going to be in my living room, still sitting on my couch, but you're not, I know you're not. Because of the way you responded to me last night. I know that you felt bad for breaking in and infringing on my space. I know you did because I could see it in your face, so I've got a pretty good feeling that you're going to respect my space now and let me come around in my own time.

But do I want to? Do I really want to come around? Is this something that I can accept in my head? Is this something that I can live with, not really knowing for sure, just going off of what you tell me is the truth? Granted, I'm pretty sure I can tell when someone's lying or not, and I haven't seen many lies come out of your mouth.

So what's going to happen today? I haven't a clue. Well, strike that. I do have a clue. I want to try you two out again. I want to see if you'll turn on me, I want to see just how loyal you can be before I trust you enough to take me to wherever it is you want to take me.

Today, we're going on another run. And it's going to suck because I'm gonna have to tell the kid that he can't go again. He's going to be pissed. And bummed. But there's nothing I can do about it. So I drag myself out of bed, my feet whispering against the wooden floors again, I'm so accustomed to being silent that the habit stays with me. I'm quiet wherever I go, just in case. Just in case there's a sleeping child next door and I don't want to wake him, not that he'll wake because he's such a sound sleeper, or just in case there's a walker nearby because it'll hear me and come after me and try to eat me and my son. These instincts, they seem to ingrain themselves into a person, and I don't know how I'll ever stop exercising these habits.

I poke my head into the kid's room, and there he is, sound asleep still, his chest rising and falling softly beneath the thin blankets. He looks so peaceful like this, like nothing could ever hurt him and nothing ever will. I wish that was the case. I wish that drool leaking from his mouth and onto his pillow could be something he has every morning of his life, that he'll live a long life, to 90 or 100, not just to 15 or 16, if even that long. I want him to thrive. In this world or . . . I'm hesitant to say anything else.

As usual, he wakes slowly, talking about strange things when he rouses from slumber, about whatever it was he happens to be dreaming of, muttering all kinds of nonsensical words. But eventually he opens his eyes enough to see me and I tell him good morning. He smiles at me, his sleepy, one-eyed smile because he's still adjusting to the light and I nudge his knee with my hand.

"Time to get up," I say softly, because no one wants to be woken up to loud noises. "Let's go meet the people downstairs."

This perks him up considerably. He's so excited to meet new people apparently, I had no idea. Well, I suppose I did, that he was so starved for attention and social interaction. But he'll get it, that's for sure, if you are who you say you are and this Jack Sparrow guy is as much of a swashbuckler as he claims to be. The kid will love that. He'll love breakfast too. And I think I can rustle up some pancakes from our bisquick box for all of us.

We head downstairs together. The kid and I clomp all the way down to the lobby, and I have my gun at my hip again, although I hopefully won't have to use it. I take a quick peek inside the office where there are two neatly folded blankets and pillows on the couch and cot, where I'm sure you didn't actually sleep. You might have lain there in the night, but I doubt you slept much. Probably like me. Too much on your mind. As for the pirate, well, I have no idea how he probably slept, and I don't care all that much either. Granted, I did help save his life, so I do care a little.

But he's not the one I have the apparent magical connection to.

And the connection to the kid as well, whatever that connection is, magical or not. That small, scared voice is still whispering to me that you're a threat, that you want to take my kid, so I'm wary of course, and as we head out of the lobby to the courtyard, I grab hold gently of the kid's shoulder. When he looks up at me and I have his full attention, I give him my serious face along with a hint of worry. "Now listen, kid, I don't know these people very well, just met them yesterday."

"Right," he says. "You said you helped save the guy's life. That's awesome."

"Yeah, it's awesome. But still, we don't know them really, so we have to be careful. We have to watch what we say and watch how comfortable we are around them."

"Right," He says, because he remembers last time, getting too close, letting ourselves get emotionally attached. It was a mistake, we both know it now and we both know how critical it is not to make that same mistake twice. "So what are they like?"

He's genuinely curious, he really wants to know before we get out there so that he has some sort of an idea and isn't blindsided by these two. All I'm worried about is that we're both not blindsided by the fact that the two of you might end up being mass murdering psychopaths.

"They seemed okay yesterday," I say slowly, wondering if he believes my words because I'm not so sure that I believe them. "Like I said, I helped save the guy and the lady seems to know him, but they're not really from around here. So we're going to make them feel like home and then later today, I'm going to take them both out on another run."

"Another run?" His face falls because he knows what this means. This means he has to stay home and guard the fort again, this means he doesn't get to go with me, that he has to sit at home and worry for another few hours whether I'll come home or not, worry that I'll be eaten and he'll be left motherless, parentless, forced to fend for himself in the land of zombies. "Yeah, another one. I don't know where we'll go yet, because I really just want this to be sort of a test."

"Like an operation?" he says, his voice gaining momentum with excitement and I nod. "Exactly like an operation. I need to make sure they're with us, not against us, and I don't want to do that here in our apartment. I'd rather do it out there with the zombies so I can really test them and make sure."

He nods now, understanding what I'm up to and is more accepting of the fact that he doesn't get to go again today. "What do you want to call this operation?" I ask because he always names our missions with badass fierce animal names and this one will be no different, I'm sure. His eyes go towards the ceiling for a moment and his hand comes up to scratch at his chin thoughtfully.

God he looks like such a little kid when he does that. I wish he was still small. I wish he wasn't growing up so fast. He's about to be a teenager in full force and then a young man who will probably hate me and resent me and want to rebel against me. He'll probably want to leave and never see me again and then we'll both be left alone.

Whoa there, I'm going off on a tangent of worrying and self-doubt. Easy now. I take a deep breath, hoping he doesn't notice my temporary relapse into freaking out - ville.

"How about Operation Manhattan Project."

"Manhattan Project?" I ask, eyebrow raised. "Sure," he nods, like it's no big deal what he's talking about. "Like at the end of World War Two when the Americans were trying to come up with a way to end it and were trying to get to the secret of an atomic weapon before anyone else."

"Yeah, kid, I know what the project is, but why are we naming today's mission after that?"

He shrugs, and it's another childlike gesture that makes my heart melt. Now, I kill zombies and fight with my hands and climb trees and build fires and fix cars, but that doesn't mean I can't still break down a little and have my little heart just a tidbit broken by the small human being that lived in my belly for a few months.

"It fits, doesn't it?" he asks, his face earnest and full of that youthful innocence, despite the zombies and the death and destruction he's seen. "We live in Manhattan. And," he pauses for dramatic effect. "The world is going to end. So we need to figure out a way to stop it, and if that way is with an atomic weapon, or with supplies that you're going to get out on your run, because that's the only weapon we have left, well then so be it. So . . ."

"So what you're saying here is that we're working on our last resort?"

"Right. But we can think of something else."

"No, Manhattan Project is fine with me."

He nods and beams because he loves coming up with names like this for runs and missions and all those types of things. I'm just glad he still has an imagination.

"Okay, then. Let's go outside."

"Okay," he says, but I stop short before the door and he stops with me. "But, I should warn you," I say suddenly, because I've forgotten momentarily about the most important part. "I think they both might be a little crazy. Out in the world a little too long. So if they start talking about crazy stuff, just ignore them and go about your business."

No big deal. Hopefully he buys that. It wasn't really a lie and hopefully it wasn't as noticeable as I thought it probably was.

Anyway, he doesn't seem to care one way or the other because he just wants to see some new people, so we step outside into the bright morning sunlight, except this morning isn't as bright as the past mornings have been. This time it's a little cloudy and gloomy. I don't have my phone weather app anymore so I've taken to a little bit of weather predicting, a little amateur storm chasing.

Not really, I don't do that, and I'm terrible at predicting the weather. Really terrible, the kid will attest to that. It's awful, how inaccurate I usually am, but anyway. My eyes adjust to the morning grey light and I catch sight of both of you sitting at our small garden table. You've got your legs crossed daintily and you're sipping a cup of water while the Captain Sparrow guy is nibbling on a piece of jerky.

I've done a little bit of dehydrating pigeon meat and any other animals that I've managed to capture. He's chewing heartily on it, and yeah I know it's a little chewy but Jesus, he's really tearing into it. "Morning," I say brightly and you've both already looked our direction when the door swung open, but now we have your full attention. The kid gives you both a small wave and smiles, sort of shyly and nervously like young teenagers tend to do when they meet new people. I can't blame him, how much social interaction has he really had in the last year?

Not a whole helluva lot, and that's hard on a teenager. I watch you as he strides towards you, holds out his hand and introduces himself in a strong voice. Your eyes soften and I think for a moment that they're going to melt right off your face.

"Hi," he says as he stands in front of you. You take his hand and shake it within yours and if those aren't tears in the corners of your eyes, I think I may need to see an eye doctor. Anyway, he says, "I have a real name, but you can call me Bronx."

"Bronx," you repeat slowly, looking up into his face and giving him that heartbroken sort of look. "That's lovely. You're a Yankees fan, then?"

I stare at you curiously and so does the kid, because I thought you were from a different world. But you seem so familiar with him and you know about the Yankees and somehow you know him too. He smiles, excited about finally having someone to talk to about his favorite team, because I won't budge about my precious Red Sox and the antagonizing gets old sometimes.

"Yeah I am! You too?" Voice almost shaking with happiness, he lets go of your hand and his face lights up. Yours does too.

The kid and I pull up a chair to our small table, and you nudge a bowl in each our directions, both filled with canned peaches in syrup and the pirate hands us each a slab of pigeon jerky. Mmm, a hearty breakfast for all of us. It's hard not having a store you can just run down to and pick up any old thing you're hungry for. But what can we do?

Strangely, it doesn't faze me in the least that you've gone without prompting into my food storage and gotten what you needed, I guess because you got enough for the kid and me both, which makes it okay. Food is a hot commodity these days. It's everything really, next to water, and guns and other weapons. And not being a zombie of course. Nobody seems to mind the food selection; instead, all eyes are on the kid as he goes on and on about his favorite team in the world. They don't exist anymore of course, but that's not the point.

I thought the kid would be uncomfortable and a little shy around the both of you, hesitant at first to speak, but you surprise me by gently drawing him out, by getting him to talk about one thing that really makes him happy. The pirate does a pretty good job of it as well, laughing and joking with the kid while we eat.

You and Henry talk more about baseball, about the Yankees versus the Sox and past teams and players and I'm absolutely flabbergasted that you know who some of these people are. What in the hell have you been doing with your life, lady? Captain John Paul Jones doesn't look as easy going about all this 'baseball' nonsense. In fact, he doesn't even look sure about what baseball really is.

We finish breakfast after a while and I slap my hands on my knees, look back and forth between the two of you and ask if you're both ready to go. We haven't talked about what we're doing today or what I've got planned so I'm guessing that both of you are thinking that we're going to wherever it is that you want to take me. Well that's not the case yet. I'm not ready for that, and I want to see if I can trust you.

Although, one night spent with no problems seems to have done the trick pretty well. Well, mostly no problems. You did break into my apartment without using any sort of normal means.

"We're going on a little run today," I say confidently, in a tone that doesn't leave room for discussion, the type of tone that hopefully neither of you will argue with. But that's too much to hope for, I know.

Right away, you frown and the pirate's mouth hangs open.

"A run?" he asks, shaking his head a little from side to side like he doesn't understand what I'm talking about. "Yeah," I say. "I need a few more supplies and you two are going to help me get them."

"We are?" you ask, a little disbelievingly. Well of course I'm going to put you two to work. How else are you going to earn your keep here? "Yep," I say and set about gathering up the plates around the table. I place them all near the water bucket to be washed later and sit back down.

"You're leaving him here alone?" You ask, eyes wide, almost condescendingly. As if I don't know how to parent. Please.

"Yeah, mom leaves me alone all the time," the kid drags out, rolling his eyes and I kick him none too gently under the table. He jumps in surprise and hisses at me, and you don't seem to miss any of it.

Anyway, not like I'm trying to impress you with my parenting skills or anything. I just want to go out and get this over with, see how you two do and then get back. End of story. Well, I know it won't be the end of the story but I will be able to put some things, some doubts to rest in my mind.

So out we go, you and the pirate only get your own swords and I hand you a long machete when you tell me you've never shot a bow and arrow before in your life, and you mumble something about Snow White that I don't catch. I don't even want to know. Personally, I've got a shotgun that carries four rounds, double barreled and side by side. It's pretty nice actually, along with my nine millimeter and a knife.

I had to think up on the fly what we'd be going on this run for, owing in part to the fact that I got pretty much everything I needed yesterday at the grocery store. I figure we could go back around to the book store, maybe pick up something for Henry, clear out some more walkers, and I think there was once a coffee shop in there, maybe they've got some stored coffee beans and a grinder. Or better yet, maybe they have already ground and ready to brew coffee, and sugar and the creamer that lasts forever because it's not really cream. God that sounds like heaven. There's a hardware store down the street as well from that book store, so maybe we can swing by there and see if there's anything I could use.

Both of you follow close behind me as we walk, heading in the general direction of the bookstore and I'm aware of your presence behind me, my hairs standing on end, the electrical charge that I felt last night and yesterday is still ghosting through my nerves. And like I remembered from the night before, it was an addictive feeling, and I can't stop myself from wanting just a little bit more of it. But I keep my hands to myself, focusing on the street, sticking to the sidewalk and letting my eyes and ears and senses scan the street in front and to the sides, fully aware of any stray zombies that may lurch out of the shadows and come after us.

We're only met by a few on the way there, nothing serious, no herds, although I've noticed that they like to stick together for some reason, must be some remnants of their humanity. Besides that, all they have is this desire to consume, to destroy, to feed. It must be an addiction for them too, I think with a sideways smirk.

There's the bookstore and with a few hand motions, we sneak around to the back where there's a window open up the fire escape.

We reach the coffee shop part of the bookstore and you must have caught my smile because you pipe up, asking me what's so funny. You brush my arm as you pass, sending a thrill up my spine.

I shrug, incline my head to the side and shake my head. I'm not going to actually tell you that your touch is causing me problems, so I make something up. "Just haven't had a drink of coffee in too damn long."

"Neither have I," you agree and the pirate grunts his own agreement. Seems we're all a little overdue for some caffeine in this world. Fine by me. At least that's something we can all find common ground on. And maybe we can find a liquor store on the way back. More common ground, I'm willing to bet. Especially with the sea dog and an apparent evil queen. Those types of people always drink heartily don't they?

Inside, we all rummage around, searching cabinets and looking over up-turned appliances and broken mugs for just a smidgen of coffee. And there's some, finally, that I find back in a storage closet, a big 3 pound bag of generic, no name, already ground coffee. I don't care what kind it is, I just want to smell it. And I do. It smells incredible and I can't wait to taste it. It goes in my backpack and the next search is on for creamer and sugar. You manage to find some in a bottom shelf, and as you're bent over, my eyes are drawn to you.

Face serious, expression neutral, you're totally committed to this, to proving that you can be trusted, that both you and the sea dog can be. Even if it means looking for stupid coffee when my son is at the apartment by himself and there are zombies everywhere and we could probably be finding better ways to spend our time. But you're doing this anyway. When I finally realize I'm staring at your backside, it's too late. John Paul Jones has nudged me and is chuckling as he rifles through some old magazines he's found in the bookstore portion of the store. "Nice figure eh, Swan?"

"Damn it . . " I start, because he startled me and already he's backed off, wooden hand raised in defense. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I just wanted to say that I understand. She's a fine specimen, certainly."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

He inclines his head towards you, as you continue rummaging around in the cabinet on your hands and knees. "Although, I have to say, I'd rather have you back in my personal quarters any day, love."

I don't hold back anymore. I've had it up to here with this guy and I'm sick of him. So I haul back and give him a swift, but not  _too_  hard punch in the gut. It's enough for him to double over in a little bit of pain, and I'm hoping that will be enough to ward him off any future advances on me. You look up sharply at the harsh noise that leaves his mouth, meeting my eyes with a questioning look that turns quickly into smug satisfaction when you see what I've done.

Shrugging, I roll my eyes at the pirate and give you a half-smile. You seem to know what he's like.

The pirate hobbles away to nurse his wounded pride and we meander into the next section of the store, spending a few minutes perusing. I find myself watching you again, over the stacks; you're engrossed in a book, nose buried in it and completely oblivious to everything around you. An avid reader, I guess. I want more than anything to know what you're reading. I'm just about to head over there and ask you when I hear noises outside. Zombie noises. They're out there and it sounds like there are quite a few of them. Is it possible for these things to be getting smarter? Or have they been at this intelligence level the entire time?

Is there even an intelligence level when the majority of their brain isn't supposed to be working? I stuff a couple books in my pack, one of them the complete set of the Lord of the Rings for Henry, because I'm not sure that he's read of all of them, and I wanted to get Narnia as well, but didn't have time to find it before the noises.

The coffee is already in there, smelling delicious, but it's time for us to go. I catch your eye above the shelf and jerk my head sideways, indicating the door and that we need to get the hell out of here, you nod once, succinctly, and then the pirate is right behind us. We're out on the street in a flash and the walkers are behind us, moving faster it seems, hot on our trail.

I probably shouldn't call them walkers, because they are definitely capable of running if provoked. But it doesn't take long before we're out of their sight, sprinting down a long alleyway and back towards the park. Again. My eyes are drawn inexplicably to that spot near the lake where I felt your magic for the first time. It makes me shiver.

But I push that out of my mind because it's too addictive of a thought and I don't want it consuming my mind. What I do want, what I'd really like to find, I think to myself as we run, is a liquor store. Yes, that sounds just about perfect right now. After the two days I've had. There used to be one just around the corner here and . . . we turn it, seeing the destruction on the streets and the boarded up windows and weeds overgrowing planter boxes and cars crashed all over the place. But I'm bound and determined to try this out. It's just one more thing before we head back.

The door is bolted shut and windows are barred and boarded, but that hasn't stopped me yet. I pull out a leather pouch from my pack and kneel down in front of the door, instructing you and the pirate to keep a look out.

It doesn't take me long to pick the lock, after a few twists and turns of my tools and one satisfying click. We're in before any more walkers can find us. It's strange how often they seem to be lurking around corners and quite near us anytime we're out.

"Nice trick," the pirate says warily, afraid of being punched again, and you raise your eyebrows, apparently something, probably an insult is on your tongue. And I don't blame you. It's a common criminal's trick, but it's gotten me out of some tight situations so I'm not ashamed of it.

We look around the dust-laden store, and I lean the shotgun, opting for the close up maneuverability of my handgun for the time being, up against a cabinet as I look around. There's not much left, after the initial virus breakout, people rioted and raided stores, so most of the store is littered with broken glass and the faintly stale stench of beer. But I'm willing to bet there's a storage room and some leftover alcohol back there. There has to be. And sure enough, after crunching through the glass, we take a look into the back room and the pirate is the first to find it. A whole box of alcohol. He could probably smell it from a block away.

Several bottles are left, one handle of rum and several smaller bottles of various liqueurs that I'm not particularly interested in. We won't be making any mixed drinks later. No sirree.

What we will be doing is having a strong drink, a nightcap, a stiff one, whatever the hell you want to call it. I haven't been drunk in too damn long and you two seem like fun enough people to have a few with. That is, if you're up to it, and by the sour look on your face as you regard the mostly empty shelves and winding aisles of the store, that might not be the case for you. Maybe I was wrong about queens being particular to strong drinks.

I'm on the opposite side of the store, searching for any spare handguns or shotguns the owners might have left behind. It's a rare thing in the city, I know, but sometimes I get lucky. And it's like that bastard, who isn't such a bastard because he did after all give me the kid, always used to say, "It's better to be lucky than good." It's been quite true in this fucked up world.

But right at that moment, a series of bad and unlucky things happen all in a row. One: I hear a walker grumbling. And it's close by. Like, in the next aisle close by. And sure enough, as I poke my head around the corner, there he stands, all decayed and gaping at me, salivating and probably starving back to death. Second death. And then Two: there's a hole in the floor that I don't see. Of course there would be a hole. Of course. And as I step in it and almost break my ankle, it feels like, my handgun slips out of my hand, slamming against the floor and skidding just out of my reach. If, reader, you haven't guessed it, this is the third bad and unlucky thing that happens.

Fucking fuck. I'm stuck in the floor. And here comes the zombie, staggering towards me and it's happening so quickly that I don't have time to call out for help or to scream or even to think really. Is this how it's going to end? Me, stuck in a hole with a zombie at my neck and my kid at least two miles from me with no idea what's happening and help just feet away and my gun just out of reach. In a fucking liquor store. All for some rum.

Fuck. But, suddenly my senses come back to me and I whip out my knife, ready to fight this dead guy off when he gets close enough. But I don't need to in that moment, because you're there, hurrying around the corner with the pirate right on your heels, you pretty much tackle the walker, shoving him to the side with your shoulder and out of my path. You and he tumble to the ground in a heap and the pirate is on him too in a second as you roll out of the way. One stab, two stabs. That's all it takes to get him in the head and incapacitate him. I'm breathless. Speechless.

I look back and forth between you and the pirate and I don't know what to say.

You both just kicked that zombie's ass. I'm sure my eyes are wide as the Mississippi, but I just keep on staring as you and the pirate stand up straight, dusting off your leather clothes.

"Thanks," I say gruffly because I'm not good at saying things like that. Things like, thank you and I love you, and I miss you and you mean the world to me. That's not my thing really. I'm more of a less-talk-more-action type of woman, not so much for the mushy feelings. That should be a rule.

"You're quite welcome, love," the pirate says, giving me his most dazzling grin, despite the punch earlier. I'm thankful, yes, but that doesn't mean I want to sleep with him, sorry buddy. All you do is nod and step towards me and bend down, grabbing hold of my arm and wrenching me from the hole.

"Aghh," I cry out as I set weight on it, reaching up to bite my fist, trying to muffle the sound.

My foot's a little tender, okay a lot tender, from the fall in the hole, and it's going to suck trying to get back on it like this. But, I've got no choice. You two can't very well carry me. I wince as I stand on it fully and you look at me like you're going to ask if it hurts, if I'm all right, but you don't. And I'm thankful for that because I don't like showing weakness. Maybe that's something you and I have in common.

"Let's get back." I say, because I'm damned tired of going out on this pointless excursion. Time for  **Rule #3 - Back to Home Base.** I should have already known that you two wouldn't hurt me or Henry, but then again, I couldn't have been sure. And I still need to be wary, just in case.

We start on the trek back home, looking out for more walkers and with me trying my damnedest to stifle my limp. It's sure as shit going to swell later. Damn it. It's getting to be late in the afternoon and the sun is starting to wink at us from behind the skyscrapers. Maybe you'd be willing to help me out with a little joint healing with that combined magic later. I'll have to ask.

_A/N - hey readers, thanks for sticking around. Every time I see a new person leave kudos or follow it makes me smile and makes the times spent writing this worth it. Stay tuned because this story is out of this world!_


	10. Chapter 10 - Belle and Neal's adventure

_A/N - hello everyone. A bit of crossover here with the Wicked (book) world. Enjoy!_

**_Enchanted Forest_ **

Overwhelmed and optimistic. How most of the people in the castle feel; overwhelmed by everything, by being whisked yet again into another world and having to start completely over without the 21st century amenities they had taken for granted in Storybrooke, by the fact that yet again, a wicked sorceress threatens their lives and livelihoods. And yet optimistic because they are home. This place, although none of them have seen it in almost thirty years, is where they grew up, where they made something of themselves, and where they built their lives and families.

But Neal and Belle are not feeling the same sentiments. Both of them have lost people near and dear to them. And like Regina, the feelings of helplessness and sorrow are indeed overwhelming, but optimism certainly doesn't accompany it. For Neal, he had only recently gotten to know his son, only recently discovered he had a son in the first place. And to have to say goodbye to Emma after making progress with getting close to her again broke him in ways he didn't know were possible.

He and Belle share those feelings, and not only that, they share a person they had lost. Rumpelstiltskin, while rough around the edges and certain of himself that he'd been lost to darkness, had redeemed himself in some ways. A man who had actively tried to change and be better for his son and for the woman he felt was his true love, while he had relapsed into darkness on many occasions, is someone Neal and Belle feel devastated about losing.

"We'll see them again, Neal," Belle says, reaching out a comforting hand to him, his head bowed and shoulders slumped.

Charming leans in, as they all sit around one of the long dinner tables in the great hall.

"Yes, you have to have faith. Snow and I know we'll see our daughter again."

"That's easy for you to say," Neal grumbles, leaning his head against his hand. "You've got true love and endless faith on your side. What do I have? Bad luck and bad genes."

"I don't think you have bad genes," Belle says quietly, and Neal smiles at her.

"Thanks," he says, sending her a half-hearted smile in return. His face flickers with a brief moment of hope as he scans the people sitting around the table. "You know, we never did see his knife. Perhaps he didn't stab himself. Maybe we can get him back?"

Belle frowns and Charming shakes his head. "He's gone, Neal. I'm so sorry, but you're going to have to focus on other things."

"I don't believe that."

Belle nods her agreement and turns to Neal. "Neither do I. There might be some answers in his castle. We should go there."

"I don't think that's a good idea," a startlingly strong voice sounds from behind the table. Regina, dressed still in her tight-fitting black gown, cleavage pressed up and full, hair still perfectly coiffed. Everyone at the table turns to look and sees a different person from the woman who had sneaked away and tried everything she possibly could to get away from her own existence.

Now she stands with her back straight, eyes clear and mouth set in a hard line, jaw clenched in some sort of simmering rage.

"Why not?" Belle asks, and the level of disdain she still holds for Regina after the former queen had kept Belle in captivity for so long is evident, still dripping from her voice.

"First of all because the castle would be in ruins, and secondly because," Regina says, sweeping her long gown out behind her as she steps to the head of the table. "I've just met with the Wicked Witch."

An audible gasp resounds through the hall, as Regina typically demands the attention of the room, and this night is no exception. Pounding footsteps resound behind the former queen, but she doesn't bother to turn around. Robin skids around the corner, head darting back and forth from the table full of former Storybrooke residents to Regina, standing as regal as ever and staring at him expectantly.

"You . . ." he starts, brow furrowing before he tries again. "You were just in your chambers a few moments ago. And I heard voices in the courtyard."

Regina rolls her eyes. "Yes, yes," she says, turning back to the table. "You've arrived just in time to hear the story." And under her breath, she says, "Now that I've released you from my freezing spell."

"Who is she?" Snow asks, leaning forward and pelting Regina with questions. "Did she try to hurt you? Why didn't you call for help?"

Smiling wryly at the dark-haired woman, Regina folds stiff arms across her chest. "I don't need help. Especially not from the likes of a thief like this one." She gestures with her head back towards Robin.

"And to catch you all up on what she told me," Regina goes on. "She's my sister, believe it or not. An unwanted daughter Cora decided to hide in another world."

"Your sister?" Charming's mouth drops open, and Regina smiles at the thought of flies buzzing in and out of that gaping hole in his face.

"Half-sister, yes. Cora left her in Oz to grow up with a governor's family, where she had an adoptive sister and grew up to find a lover of her own at school."

"So what's the problem, why's she so mad?" Grumpy says, his nose half buried in a pint glass at the opposite end of the table.

"Apparently, my curse to send all of us to Storybrooke in the first place had more lasting problems than I anticipated. It ended up ruining her life as well as all of yours. Her lover is missing because of it and her sister is dead."

"Your curse did all of that?" Snow asks, her mouth mirroring her husband's. Regina nods, trying her best to ignore their similarities.

"It did. And she's mad, not only at me, but also at you, Snow, for being the reason I cast the curse in the first place."

"But," Snow shakes her head with an indignant frown. "I didn't choose to be taken away into another world without my daughter and with a husband on the brink of death; that was your doing. And besides that, it wasn't just your curse. You enacted it for Rumpelstiltskin; it's his fault as much as anyone's."

Regina rolls her eyes because there is so much she could say back to Snow, so many hurtful things she could bring up, like Daniel and Cora and her whole life being ruined and setting off their own domino effect of revenge and murder. But she refrains from that, knowing that it's fruitless and that it's (mostly) all behind them now.

"I'm aware of that," Regina says, sparing a brief glance to the former princess, now interim queen, seeing as how Regina no longer wants the job, nor is wanted for the job, she's guessing. "But the Wicked Witch, her name is Zelena, is not. In fact, she's jealous of all that I had. A home, a proper teacher of magic and a father and mother who loved me unconditionally."

"But . . ." Charming butts in, because he saw firsthand the wreck Regina was when Daniel was brought briefly back to life, how torn up she was, and he knows, and Snow knows, just how far off the mark Zelena is concerning Cora's unconditional love for Regina.

"I know," Regina cuts him off, not wanting to rehash the past, because everyone knows by now what Snow did to her and what she did to Snow and what Cora did to both of them. "But the real issue here is that of her paternal lineage."

All eyes are on her, listening raptly because it must be someone they all know. Oh, if only they had any idea the train wreck about to hit them. She almost smiles at the thought of laying down such shocking news. Almost.

"Rumpelstiltskin."

Another gasp echoes throughout the room. And that's difficult to do, shocking these people, considering all of them are living fairy tales, literal representations of children's stories from another realm. Nothing should surprise them. Except this, this twisted turn of events.

"There's no way," Neal says, looking thoroughly unhappy about this news. As if he had any say about what his father was up to during his absence to other realms. Regina nods knowingly.

"I thought the same. How could my mother see something in that monster?" She watches, almost gleefully, at the outrage painted on Neil's face. It's too easy sometimes. Belle, too, glares at her from across the table. She's one of the few, Regina admits to herself, who has just cause to be mad at her still. But why she still pines after the imp, Regina hasn't a clue.

"But I realize that he was lonely, searching for his son for so many years, and to find a pupil as promising as my mother. . ." Regina shrugs, ignoring Neil's now reproachful expression and continues, turning her gaze to Snow and continues.

"It makes sense, I suppose. When Cora landed herself into trouble at Princess Eva's birthday party for lying about being able to spin straw into gold, he appeared to her, and they struck a deal that he would teach her magic in return for her firstborn child. She succeeded with the gold and won Prince Henry's hand in marriage the next morning, but they had a year before the wedding. And, seeing as Cora didn't love my father, she fled, called it a vacation before the wedding. She wanted to escape her responsibilities with Rumple, and so they ran off, traveled the realms together."

"So what happened then?" Snow asks, and Regina turns her attention back to the rest of the group.

"She became pregnant and hid that fact from Rumple, knowing what giving up her firstborn would mean. Not only that, but somehow the child turned out to have green skin."

"So that part's true then?" Grumpy calls out from farther down the table and Regina suppresses the urge to roll her eyes.

"Yes, her skin is still green. And that, besides being born of wedlock, is one of the reasons Cora decided to give her up, to leave her with a family in Oz. And now that's she's grown up and visited the wizard there, Zelena was able to contact Rumpelstiltskin, who trained her further in magic and told her all about our world. He enjoyed having a daughter, I think, until she became ever more powerful, and naturally then, Rumple tried to sabotage everything in her life, although from what she said, most of her life was close to shambles anyway thanks to the revolution or whatever it was going on at that point in Oz."

Regina waits for something else reproachful from Neal or Belle, but when no retort comes, she goes on. "And she knew about my curse, of course, was somehow watching the entire time. But when I finally cast it, apparently it had lingering consequences on other realms as well as ours. A cyclone brought a young girl named Dorothy to her land, while simultaneously killing her adopted sister and taking away her lover, Glinda, to another realm."

A brief pause, before a round of 'what?' 'that's not possible' 'this is the craziest thing I've ever heard' and 'what will we do now's resounds throughout the hall. Regina holds her hands up and silence ensues. "Yes, I know. But that's what happened and now she wants her revenge. Not only that, but she mainly wants her lover back from wherever she was taken. And where that is, I haven't a clue."

"So, all that being said," Belle says slowly. "Why is it that we shouldn't go looking for a way to bring Rumpelstiltskin back? Maybe he could help us straighten things out with her, convince her that she didn't miss out on all that much."

"Yeah," Neal says hopefully. "Maybe he could tell Zelena where Glinda might have been taken."

Regina can only shrug noncommittally. "Perhaps. But I think the most logical place for Zelena to go next is Rumple's castle, ruins or not, just to scope things out and make sure all is as I said. So, unless you'd like to be turned into monkeys, I suggest you not go anywhere near that castle."

"I agree," Charming says, sitting up tall and as regal as he can manage in his seat. Again, the urge to roll her eyes is only just tamped down. "It seems too dangerous, and besides, it's a fruitless quest. There's no way to bring him back."

"You don't know that," Neal says angrily, standing up and pushing his chair back with a squeak against the stone floor. Belle accompanies him. "There's always another way."

...

_The next morning_

**The man and woman sneak through the front entryway of the partially restored castle, their footsteps making hardly any sounds.**

**Blue eyes glint menacingly from around the corner, and long green fingers slip silently out of sight. Zelena stays in the shadows, knowing that now is not the time to be seen, not after everything she's gone through to get what she needs so far.**

**She'd been only slightly disappointed that it wasn't Regina coming to pay her a visit after their discussion the previous night. And having no blood from either of these two, Zelena is unable to use her looking glass, having to get up close and personal to see what these two are looking for.**

**It is a magnificent device, one made specifically for her many years ago by one of her adoptive mother's passing lovers, a glassblower from the Quadling Country. She'd used it since before she could speak to catch glimpses of the future, however blurry and sporadic. Usually a simple drop of a person's blood does wonders for many magical objects, and this one is no exception. Zelena discovered it when the Wizard himself accidentally bled upon it and thereafter she found the ability to watch his every move.**

**But at the moment, she has neither Baelfire nor the woman's blood and cannot see them when she wants, so Zelena remains where she is, hidden around the corner but within earshot.**

**Thinking back to the night before, when she had used Regina's blood on the looking glass, she had been able to see and hear everything Regina did.**

**After listening to Regina's warning to the rest of the group about Rumple's castle and Zelena, she knows this duo is expecting her, but at the moment, Rumpelstiltskin's son and current, or former she should say, lover seem unfettered by anything Regina said to them before. And the castle was indeed in shambles when she first saw it, but the few spells to help out the library, as exhausted as it made her, seem to be holding the walls up for a while at least.**

**Everything has already been set up. All that needs to happen now is for the fools to take the bait, and if her instincts are right about this young woman, this Belle, all her pieces will fall into place. The young woman has bright, curious eyes, and from the pages and pages the woman left here in her journals going on and on about her beast and how misunderstood he is and how dearly she wants to help him see the good in himself, Zelena knows how well this plan will work. And not only did the woman drone on and on about Rumpelstiltskin, but judging by her writings, Belle has her mind singularly set on books and knowledge and finding things out about the world around her, and that is the perfect trait for the bait and switch Zelena has in mind.**

**The duo wanders into the library, and Belle's eyes light up at the sight of the room built just for her, to keep her happy while in the beast's captivity, even if it looks like hundreds of years have passed and a nuclear bomb went off nearby. But Baelfire on the other hand, he looks quite different, face holding apprehension and unease, and Zelena understands that feeling all too well. The feeling of abandonment by one's parents, oh yes, Zelena knows all about that. Baelfire wants nothing more than to see his father again, to mend the broken relationship that tore their lives apart and sent Rumpelstiltskin on his fateful quest. But at the same time, he's anxious about it, surely knowing that if he succeeds in bringing his father back, there will be consequences. There are always consequences.**

**And just as Zelena expects her to do, Belle heads straight for the dusty books, knowing that if there is an answer, it can be found in a book.**

**"What's the plan, Belle?" Baelfire asks, climbing over a fallen and crumbling chair and sending up a dust cloud as he follows the earnest woman.**

**"If there is anyone who can resurrect Rumple, it'll have to do with the Dark One, and if there is a way to do it, we'll find it here."**

**"You really believe in him don't you?"**

**Belle turns her head back, glancing at Baelfire confidently with a gentle smile, the smile she probably reserves for Rumple himself. "I love him. All of him, even the parts that belong to the darkness."**

**The man's eyes are downcast, his fingers toy with a silvery charm on his necklace. "Irony is, now I need the dark parts to get to the ones I care about."**

**"What's that?" Belle eyes the charm while her hands bring down several books, and it's obvious that she knows this library front to back. That's the reason Zelena knew she had to be careful about introducing a new book into the mix, it had to be in a secretive place that Rumpelstiltskin might have hidden it.**

**"It's Emma's, it's supposed to represent our life together. I dunno how it survived our trip."**

**"Well," Belle says confidently and Zelena wants to laughs at her tone, at her utter and blind belief in this thing called True Love, this notion, this concept that a certain kind of love can be stronger than the rest. But she can't laugh because she believes in it too, more fully than anything she's ever believed in before and Zelena can't help but hate herself just a little for it.**

**Never was she, a hardened adopted orphan whose real parents abandoned her, supposed to fall victim to the charms of another, to fall under another's spell, a spell more powerful than any magic she had been taught, a type of magic that has consumed her and keeps her full of wanting and desire and a need to be near, a need to hear that voice and look into those eyes, those incredibly clear blue eyes.**

**Zelena refocuses on the conversation taking place around the corner. It's integral to her plan that everything goes as it should in here. "It must have been born out of True Love," Belle says simply, and Zelena wonders what must have happened to this 'Emma'. "Now come with me."**

**"You think there's magic in here?"**

**"No," Belle shakes her head, thumbing quickly through pages. "Books. All kinds of books. Books on the Dark One too."**

**Both Baelfire's eyebrows raise in wonder, and Zelena is glad at that moment that Rumpelstiltskin has endless tomes on all sorts of subjects, and especially books about what it's like to be the Dark One.**

**"Where do we start?"**

**"One at a time..." Belle fades off, already lost in a book, but Zelena knows just how quickly she'll find the correct book, if she's as much of a bookworm as she claims. And sure enough, thirty tik toks later, the woman proves herself and her familiarity with the library when she pulls the dusty volume from the very back of a shelf, waving a hand in front of her face to clear the dust cloud her movement brings forth.**

**"Whatcha got there?" Baelfire moves closer, narrowing his gaze. Belle hasn't taken her eyes off of it, because it seems to be a book she hasn't encountered before, perhaps too far in the back and hidden from sight.**

**"It's a very old book," she says slowly, opening it with trepidation and leafing delicately through the first few pages. Perfect, Zelena thinks, as Belle continues looking, and it won't be long before she comes across the correct passage, the instructions for resurrecting the Dark One.**

**And she certainly does. With Baelfire peering over her shoulder, Belle gasps loudly, her finger finding the ancient black script and reads aloud, her voice finding an ancient language that Zelena hoped she would understand and translate.**

**"What language is this?" Baelfire squints at it, but Belle's eyes are already scanning the page.**

**"Kekuatan untuk mengalahkan," she murmurs, struggling over the words and looks up briefly at the man. "Ancient Sanskrit. It's where the blade originated. A Kris dagger, a weapon of spiritual importance."**

**Baelfire purses his lips. "And you can understand it?"**

**"Of course I can," she says quietly, sounding a little insulted. She takes a few more moments to read through the text before she begins reading aloud, her finger still trailing the scripted, handwritten words.**

**"The power to vanquish the Dark One lies in this text. Reader be warned. The Dark One is a powerful, evil being and if this being is already subdued into the underworld, it is most strenuously advised that he remain that way. If these warnings are ignored, and the reader wishes to free the Dark One from his eternal prison, the reader must prepare to shed blood. One must follow the map to the Dark One's tomb, and once there, the key is all the reader will need. "**

**"Okay," Baelfire breathes, looking around. "A key, a map. Where do we find this stuff?"**

**Belle turns to him, concern written over her face. "Are you sure about this, Neal?"**

_**Neal?** _ **Zelena thinks. A nickname perhaps for Baelfire? "Didn't you hear what this warning just said? Bloodshed and underworlds. This doesn't sound good to me."**

**Baelfire's face remains stubbornly set. "There's a way to get him back. And if that means I have to spill a little blood, a little of my own blood even, that's fine. He'll know of a way to get back."**

**His family, yes, of course, Zelena thinks. And that's the key to all of this. This Emma person.**

**"Okay," Belle says hesitantly, but she doesn't look convinced, and that's just fine with Zelena because if it didn't sound real enough, dangerous enough, neither of them would believe it. "Then I believe I have the map and the key here."**

**She opens the next page and out falls a folded up map, yellowed and crinkled, but readable. Of course it's readable. "And the key?"**

**Belle turns the page again, holding the book up, and it sags in her hands, like it's heavier than it should be. In the space where more words should be, there is a cutout perfectly formed for a key. The key rests, innocently enough in its alcove, simply waiting for a pair hands to come along and fit it to its lock.**

**"Okay," Baelfire says, standing up straight and looking around the deserted library. "Let's get started then."**

**The branches are heavy with snow, dark and damp and the thought of touching that wetness with her bare skin makes Zelena squirm. Ignoring the bitingly cold wind and the way her teeth have begun to chatter, the witch eases her broom down, settling herself on a high but sturdy branch, close enough to hear their conversation, but far enough away and camouflaged so that the duo won't see her. She nods in satisfaction as Chistery lands nearby on a higher branch, silent as the grave.**

**It's dark already, the sun hidden well behind the mountains and trees early in the evening as it tends to do in the winter months. Baelfire and Belle have been wandering since mid-afternoon, when they first set out upon their quest. And now, they look as miserable and frozen as she feels. Gripping the tree's trunk with her gloved hand, Zelena leans closer to hear their snow-muffled voices.**

**"Ever since that night, I can't stop thinking about his sacrifice," Baelfire says, his tone speculative. "He died to save everyone."**

**"He did it to save us. It's what family does."**

**Zelena wants to throw a snowball at her for that, for her blind belief in family and their loyalty.**

**"He died a hero," Baelfire says quietly.**

**"Were you surprised he had it in him?"**

**"I don't know," Baelfire shrugs as they trudge heavily through the snow, and at least now they have an idea of where they're headed, having finally found the enormous pine tree hewn into the map. "He wasn't the most selfless guy, and I know he regretted letting me go through that portal, but I can't imagine him doing what he did."**

**"He was willing to do anything to get back to you," Belle says with surety. Everything she does seems to be with surety. But Zelena knows firsthand just how badly Rumpelstiltskin had tunnel vision when it came to his son. If only he'd had that sort of devotion to her.**

**"That's one thing we can relate on. I'll do anything to get back to him."**

**And suddenly they find the right spot, in the center of the clearing, and all Baelfire has left to do is clear away several inches of snow and put the key in. Zelena holds her breath, watching as they kneel down together, scraping away the white powder and uncovering an intricately carved metal trap door, the center of it perfectly suited for the key.**

**"The Dark One's vault," Belle says, and for the first time, her features are etched with fear.**

**"You sure about this?"**

**"Of course not," Belle says, sitting back on her haunches. She seems to only now come to her senses about following a book's instructions about how to resurrect a dead man, but Baelfire remains staunchly unmoved. "I have no idea if this will work, Neal."**

**"It's probably not a very good idea, is it?"**

**"Probably not," Belle says, but Zelena can see by his expression that he simply doesn't care. Belle steps back but Baelfire makes up his mind within a second, lunging towards the door with the key before Belle can stop him. But she does try.**

**"Wait, Neal!" she cries and he pauses at her tone. "I have a bad feeling about this. We need to leave this place!"**

**Her snow flecked hair is stark against the white backdrop, and Zelena can just make out the pained expression on her face as she yells for him to stop. A little too late for that, my pretty.**

**The snow is falling harder now, almost completely muffling their voices. His hesitation won't last forever, not when he's so desperate for his father, but on the off chance Belle can convince him not to do it, well, Zelena simply can't take that chance. She knows now that she must take action. It's time to reveal herself to two more people. The branches bend silently as she descends through them, standing sideways on her broom as it takes her to the ground. The duo sees her before they hear her, and she can see the trepidation on their faces. They were expecting her at the castle, she knows that, but right now she's caught them by surprise.**

**"You!" Belle says, pointing a finger towards Zelena. "This was a trap, wasn't it?"**

**"Of course it was," Zelena cackles, throwing her head back into the falling snow. But a few flakes land on her skin and the wet feel of it makes her want to crawl inside herself. "You knew what to expect. My sister warned you both about me, but did you heed her words?"**

**The duo remains quiet. Zelena turns her attention to Balefire, who is still kneeling in the snow, key held aloft and frozen in his hand.**

**"It's the only way, you know," she says gently to him, and she can see in his eyes the same feeling she's had her entire life. Abandonment. But there's always hope, always the hope of an orphaned child that they will come back for you. Baelfire almost nods, looking back to Belle with apology now in his eyes.**

**"Neal, no," Belle says, frozen to the spot because closer to Baelfire means closer to Zelena. "She wants control of him. This won't end well. It can't!"**

**"We can bring him back," Baelfire cries out, shuffling on his knees a little closer, just close enough to fit the key in the lock.**

**"Rumple didn't sacrifice himself so he could be a slave to evil."**

**"My father is the king of loopholes. I'm sure he can find a way out of it," he sounds desperate, and Zelena could kiss herself because it is so simple, so easy.**

**"Think of what she could do with the Dark One under her control," Belle doesn't give up easily, that's for sure. "There has to be another way."**

**"What if there's not another way?" He counters. "I have to take my chance. I need to get back. "**

**"Don't do this, Neal, don't repeat your father's mistake."**

**But Baelfire doesn't listen. He places the key in the lock, covers the entire thing with his hand and turns it. After a moment, a sizzling noise followed by the pungent smell of burnt flesh fills Zelena's nostrils. With a scream, Baelfire wrenches his hand away, staring at it for a moment before he shoves it open-palmed into the snow, where it hisses and pops as the flesh rapidly cools.**

**And from the metal trap door, a multitude of sounds erupt into the silent evening. A sliding, metal sound of the door opening, the thick gurgling of a black oily liquid, and then a squishing noise interrupts the quiet night. A dark form emerges from the hole, from what looks like sludge from the River Styx, drowning and choking those angry souls in the fifth circle of hell. The dripping form that slaps itself into the snow trembles once, takes the shape of a man, and then stands up.**

**The creature shakes itself, almost dog like, and the sludge comes free, revealing the man beneath, the Dark One. Rumpelstiltskin.**

**But before anyone can say anything, before Rumpelstiltskin can enjoy even one moment of reunion with his long lost son, or with his lover, Baelfire cries out, grasping at his chest.**

**Whipping around at the noise, the Dark One's face crumples, and his steps are a blur as he moves towards his son, wrapping his arms around Baelfire's body and holding him. He caresses Baelfire's head as the man writhes in pain, growing pale even in this half-light.**

**"Bae, no."**

**The Dark One takes his son's burned palm and stares at it, understanding the reason for his son's suffering at once. He sees the mark, but can't comprehend how Baelfire could have been made to do something like this. But when he glances around, taking stock of his surroundings, he sees Belle and then Zelena. And she can see in Rumpelstiltskin's eyes that he now understands.**

**Zelena takes another step towards father and son, holding up the book she used to trick Belle and Baelfire, smiling all the while. "Belle was right. Poor Baelfire. He never learned from his father's mistakes, would do anything to get back to his son."**

**"Zelena. You did this, you tricked him," Rumpelstiltskin accuses, his eyes flaming with anger and malice.**

**"All I did was pass on some information," Zelena shrugs innocently.**

**"You didn't tell him the price."**

**"Oh dear. I thought it was rather obvious: a life for a life."**

**Belle gasps from somewhere in the background, and Zelena inwardly pats herself on the back. "You said spilled blood! That's all the book said!" Belle cries, and Zelena tosses the battered volume on the snow at her feet.**

**"I certainly did say that, and there certainly will be bloodshed."**

**"You'll be all right, son," Rumpelstiltskin says desperately, but Baelfire is unresponsive, unconscious perhaps from the pain. He turns back to Belle.**

**"Go, Belle. Run."**

**She does what he says albeit reluctantly, sprinting off through the snow, perhaps to fetch help. It will be too late, but more than likely, dear old dad doesn't want his lover to see what he's about to do.**

**Rumpelstiltskin closes his eyes briefly, probably trying to think of another way, and then pulls the dagger out from the depths of his cloak. Belle is long gone, and the only one to witness The Dark One's relinquishment of his power is Zelena.**

**Holding the dagger up, Rumpelstiltskin's voice reaches her from beyond the snow flurries. "I'm not going to let him go."**

**As his last ditch effort, his last chance, he sends a burst of magic through both himself and Baelfire, hoping perhaps to hold on to both his power and Neal, but to no avail. His son remains unconscious and he realizes that it won't work. And in a sudden release, Rumpelstiltskin tosses the dagger across the snow and it sinks in a few inches before Zelena bends over to pick it up, reveling in the feeling of powerful electricity that seeps through even her thick leather gloves.**

**"I didn't think you had it in you," she says scathingly but his eyes are only for his son. Zelena resists the urge to slit both their throats. That would not be beneficial to her plan, no, not in the slightest.**

**"Here's what's going to happen, dear old dad," Zelena says, and finally he meets her gaze. "I'm going to make a deal with you. Baelfire here has to pay a price for bringing you back, and normally that price would be death."**

**She pauses, enjoying the despair on his face. "But for you, I'll make an exception. Especially because I'm going to need the both of you to carry out what I have in mind. So, because you so kindly gave up the power over the Dark One, I'm willing to let Baelfire go on living."**

**Relief washes over his features. "Indeed, I will need him to return with Belle to my sister and the rest of their group to warn them about upcoming horrors. But you will stay with me, Dark One, and help me with my quest."**

**"Your quest," Rumpelstiltskin questions. "What are you talking about? Revenge against me for sabotaging you?"**

**Her mouth makes a gentle clicking noise, a tsk sound reserved for children. "Dear old dad, no, no. I'm past that. It's your curse that I'm angry about, the curse my sister enacted, the curse designed so that you could find your other child. That curse had greater effects than you thought it would."**

**"All the way in Oz?"**

**"That's right," Zelena nods. "That cyclone took away my Glinda, and you're going to help me find her. You and your Dark One powers."**

**Rumpelstiltskin can only watch in silence as the witch stalks back and forth, steam issuing from her mouth in the cold night air. She pauses mid-step and stares down at him with a flourish of her hand, the dagger glints in the half-light.**

**"Now, enough talk. Let's you and I get back to your castle shall we?"**

**With a jerk of the dagger, Rumpelstiltskin is on his feet, and Baelfire crumples to the ground in an unconscious heap. "But what about Bae? You said he could go back."**

**"Yes, yes, of course," Zelena says nonchalantly, waving her hand. "Chistery! Come here my dearest."**

**And one of her flying monkeys swoops down from a nearby tree, landing gently in the snow. He sends a glare and a hiss towards the glittery imp before scooping Baelfire up in his arms.**

**"Good, Chistery," Zelena instructs the monkey. "Now, get one of your companions to give our dear friend Belle a lift as well, back to Regina's castle. Oh, and don't forget, I'll need a few drops of Baelfire's blood when you return."**

**The monkey chitters his obedient response and takes flight, swooping easily out of the clearing and above the treetops, becoming almost invisible in the snowfall.**

**"Wonderful," Zelena says with a grin. "Now, let's get out of the cold, shall we?"**


	11. Chapter 11  - It's been awhile since I've had rum.

_**A/N - extra long chapter for you. hope you enjoy it.** _

**April 2nd**

The radio crackles with feedback as I call in to the kid that we're on our way, and the feelings of relief blooming in my gut surprise me. I always feel like this when I'm returning to him, when I've been out doing whatever it is I've been doing and then I come back, it's a good feeling, knowing my kid is in there safe and that he's waiting for me. Eventually I'll have to let him out and teach him everything I know about surviving out here, but for now, I just want to keep my son a kid as long as possible. Even in this fucked up world, I want him to have a childhood. Impossible, I know.

When we reach the gate, I unlock the padlock and you two again watch around the perimeter for any stray walkers. There don't seem to be any around and we get in the place with no issue. And there he is, grin from ear to ear, jogging from the lobby out to meet us in the courtyard.

"Hey kid," I say and his eyes are fixed to my foot, seeing right away that I'm limping and that something has gone wrong. Perceptive, isn't he?

"What happened?" His face falls into a mask of concern as he approaches and I wave him off, trying to act like it doesn't hurt at all. I don't particularly want to tell him what happened out there, that I came pretty damn close to seeing the end. Although, now that I think about it, some of that 'magic' could have saved me. "Nothing, nothing. Just twisted my ankle. Could you get me something frozen from inside?"

"Sure thing," he says and jogs off in the other direction. I catch your expression as he goes. A half-smile and a tilt to your head. It's like you really care about him but you don't even know him. You know how you can always spot a parent by the way they respond to your kids, or by the way they talk about their own? That's the feeling I'm getting from you, like you know exactly what it's like to come home to a kid like this.

"Here," says the pirate as he pulls up a chair for me. I want to roll my eyes and sit in a different chair just to spite him, but I restrain myself. "Sit for a spell. R - . . ." he catches himself, almost saying your name, whatever the hell it really is. "We'll whip up some dinner for all of us, won't we?"

"That's a good idea," you say, smiling and turning to me as I collapse heavily into the chair. "I suppose it's the least we could do after you've let us stay here. What would you like?"

I shrug because there aren't many options in our food storage. "Whatever we have is fine with me. I'm not picky. You might ask the kid though."

You rub your hands together, wandering off in the direction of the storage closet.

When the kid brings back the package of frozen meat, I lay it gingerly on my ankle and prop the whole leg up on the table. And because I can't really move, I direct the kid about where to put all of our new found supplies and the first most important thing, the long-awaited coffee, he puts in the lobby for us to have in the morning. The coffee pot won't take up much power and it will be well worth it. The other most important thing is the rum, which sits next to me in my backpack. That will be for later.

Or maybe now. Yeah, it'll help with the pain, I tell myself as I open the lid and take a hearty swig. ACK! Strong.

You and the pirate have armfuls of ingredients and set them out with a few pots and pans around the grill. While you both go through the motions of the prep work, you remember something and turn to the kid.

"I picked up something for you at the bookstore, d - " you catch yourself, stopping your lips from letting one form of endearment or another out. He looks up from the garden, where he's tending to some of the newly sprouting herbs. Strange.

"It's there on the table," you say, nodding with your head because your hands are busy. The kid doesn't waste time hurrying over to it and picking the item up, holding it carefully in his hands. It's a book, looks small and from here, I can't tell what the title is.

"What is it?" I ask, seated opposite of where you and pirate are cooking on the grill.

"Hatchet," he says, holding it up to me and a whole slew of memories flash into my mind.

"That's a good one," I say, nodding at the book. It was one of my favorites, as a young teenager, not that I read all the time. But when I did, books like Hatchet really spoke to me. A kid, not much older than mine right now stranded by himself in the wilderness, faced with his own survival. Now, granted, my kid has me now, unlike myself at his age who had no one at all. We're still struggling for survival in this world, though.

"I've never read this one," he says, absorbed already in the back cover and one glance at you tells me you're relieved, I'm sure, that he doesn't have this one.

"Thanks," he says, looking up at you long enough to smile warmly. You return that smile and go back to what you're doing.

The kid's had his nose buried in the book for the past hour now and the food is ready just as the sun begins to set. You've made some sort of bread in a pot over the fire, not with the Bisquick but with actual flour and baking powder and soda. It's a little lopsided, because the powder and soda have probably gone bad. I don't really know because I don't bake or ever use those things. I'm surprised we even had those ingredients. And Jolly has put together some sort of stew using a couple of canned soups and vegetables from the garden and our storage.

We sit down to eat and Jolly jumps back up again, claiming to have forgotten something. He comes back with a bowl filled with those little mandarin oranges in syrup. A shared look passes throughout the table, but the pirate holds up his hands defensively.

"Everyone knows it keeps the scurvy away," he says quite seriously.

"Scurvy?" I say, eyebrow raised suspiciously. The kid pipes up.

"Oh, I remember this. It's for the Vitamin C. Because scurvy is when you don't have enough of it."

My head shakes incredulously and your mouth turns up with an expression that almost looks like pride. "You really do read a lot, don't you?" I ask the kid, nudging his elbow with my arm. He nods.

"Are you enjoying the book?" you say and the kid lights up again. He's been flipping through it all during dinner.

"It's great," he exclaims. "It was sad at first, but I love reading about his plans to set up a place to live." He pauses to look at me. "It's kind of like what we did here, isn't it Mom?"

I nod and I know your familiar heart-melting expression is now written all over my face but I don't care.

"Your favorite types of books are the ones about adventure?" Jolly asks, and the kid responds vigorously. "Yeah, anything with a good, exciting plot. And if it has a hero who saves the world and gets the girl, I'm there."

"Hey," I protest and the pirate throws his head back to laugh. "That's my kind of story as well, lad," he says with a wink towards me and I want nothing more than to punch him again. This time in the smug face. But there you are, rolling your eyes and sitting back in your chair.

"Don't be ridiculous," you say scathingly to Jolly, with just a hint of a smirk. "You've never been the heroic type."

I want to laugh at this remark, but I hold it in, watching the exchange between you and the pirate with interest, wondering to myself how long you two have known each other.

"I'll have you know, I've been known to participate in noble acts befitting the good and the virtuous."

"If it suits your prerogative, that is," you scoff. He dips his head.

"Yes, yes. Well, on a different, but related note, and speaking of adventures," he says, steering the conversation away from his apparent lack of heroics. From behind him somewhere, he pulls out three glasses, setting one down in front of everyone but the kid and pours out two fingers of rum. No one objects and god knows I need it. "I do believe it's time we embarked upon an adventure of our own, wouldn't you say?"

He's looking at me and soon I can feel yours and the kid's eyes on me as well. The kid, when I look at him, his expression is questioning, and it asks, 'adventure, what adventure? Can I come too?'. And your expression is agreeing with Jolly's and of course I know what you two are asking me, but I don't really want to talk about this right now.

"I'm not sure yet," I say noncommittally, because I was hoping to avoid this altogether.

"Adventure?" the kid says, like I knew he would. You and the pirate stay quiet, letting me handle this predicament you've put me in. I'm not going to lie to him.

"Yes. These two have something to show me, and they'd like for me to go with them to see it."

"What is it?" The natural curiosity of a kid. He's not making it easy, is he?

"Supposedly," I start, not really sure where I'm going with this. "I knew both of them, but I don't remember it. And whatever it is they're going to show me might help me remember."

It's not bad, not a terrible explanation and he nods slowly, turning it over in his mind as I bite my lip nervously. "Okay," he says simply, shrugging his shoulders. "Did you all go to high school together or something?"

The pirate laughs and you have a hint of a smile on your face. I shake my head. "No, we didn't. I barely got through most of high school, kid. I didn't even graduate."

"But you still had a good job," he points out and I want to hug him. So sweet. He doesn't even care that his mom was a dead beat. Instead of hugging him, though, I take a sip of my rum. "Well, did you meet them in prison then?"

Naturally I would be taking a sip of rum when he says something like that. It comes dribbling out of my mouth, and I'm lucky it didn't spew out all over the three of you. That one made me almost lose it. I shake my head again.

"What is this? Twenty questions? No, I didn't meet them in prison. They're just from the past," I say firmly and hoping he'll take the hint. He does, thankfully, realizing that it might be a sore subject, and he goes back to finishing his oranges.

"So," you say, looking at the kid and drawing a spoonful of stew to your lips and I'm frozen, watching it happen, mesmerized by your mouth. I'm thinking you want to change the subject, and I send thanks to you mentally. "I realize you two don't have many options here for food, but what is your favorite?"

His own spoon pausing on the way to his mouth, the kid takes a moment to think about it and then grins at the thought of food from a different time, food from a restaurant and a society that still functions, still has farmers and truck drivers and chefs and waiters and takeout.

"I really liked Italian food, when Mom would bring it home after work and school."

Dark eyebrows raise and your face lights up in the same way that the kid's does. It's almost uncanny. But not so much if you are who you say you are.

"Good to know, Hen- Bronx," you say, catching yourself with a smile and you focus again on your food, as if you plan on sticking around and cooking for him someday. Like nothing would make you happier.

"Tell me," the pirate says, and I have a feeling what he's going to ask. Both of you are getting tired of this 'no names' business. "Would you mind explaining again the reason for refusing to call everyone by their given names?"

"Given is subjective, I think. And besides that," I say slowly, gesturing meaninglessly and looking up at our building, not really wanting to make eye contact with you because you make me nervous and this rum isn't helping. I take another careful sip anyway. "It's the best way not to get attached, like finding a puppy on the street and giving it a name and then it gets run over and you're heartbroken."

The kid's only reaction to that is to nod his head slowly, staring off in the dusk at neighboring buildings. I know what he's thinking, and I wish that hadn't been brought up because I don't like to think about it either. It's not easy losing people you get close to. And keeping names out of the equation eliminates some of that intimacy. The pirate speaks up first, my eyes meet his and take in his smirk.

"That's endearing and quite sad, but we're not puppies, Swan."

"Damn it!" I say, slamming my fist on the table. I don't like to curse around the kid, but he's left me without much of a choice. He cringes, unable, apparently to keep from calling me anything but Swan and Love. Idiot.

At that, the kid excuses himself and tells us he's going upstairs to read. It's dark already, but we have lanterns and a good supply of fuel left for burning, as well as quite a few candles. We all tell him goodnight and I want to follow him, to make sure he's okay, after talking about sensitive stuff and adventures and a time before this apocalypse, but I know he just wants to be left alone for a while. It's what I would have wanted too.

As for you and me and the pirate, we continue to drink. He pours generous helpings and it goes down smooth every time. What doesn't go down smoothly is the conversation, because I take every opportunity I can get to shut down all suggestions of seeing whatever it is you two have to show me. This place you two claim will help me with my memory.

I'm not sure I want to see it. I'm not sure I want memories back, if you're in them and the pirate is in them and there has to be so much heartache judging by the constant look of despair on your face, and I'm not sure I want all of that on me. Wouldn't it be easier if you two just left and the kid and I could go back to our lives?

I say these things to the both of you and it's the rum talking, normally I would know when to shut up and that my words are hurting you and it's not your fault that all of this happened, the zombies and whatnot. But you look even more hurt by the time the words leave my mouth and I will them back in, wishing I could take them away, could snatch them back out of the air.

"Fine," you say, and I'm not sure if it's just dark and the moon is reflecting off your eyes, or if there are actually tears there, but I'm pretty sure I made you cry and now I feel awful and selfish. "We'll all just sleep off this alcohol and maybe you'll feel differently in the morning."

But all I can do is stare at you and I can feel the pirate staring at me, because the rum is acting like some sort of aphrodisiac for him, coursing through his veins and setting him on fire for me. Only problem is, he's not the one I'm burning for.

I stand up, swaying a bit and salute them, hoping for it to come off as comical when I know I just look like an asshole. "Right then," I say. "Goodnight to you both, and thank you for dinner."

Staggering up the stairs and to the apartment is more difficult than I thought it would be with my ankle, but I manage it somehow, and I lean back against the heavy door after it's locked and bolted, knowing that it's useless against you but I do it anyway. Habit, security blanket, that sort of thing. And I'm wondering what the hell happened down there and why I'm acting like such an ass.

I shake my head, pushing myself off the door and towards the kid's room to check on him. It's because I'm defensive right now, I know that, and I also know that I didn't mean to make you cry. But all I want is for my kid to be safe and happy and I don't know how much all of this and you and the pirate are helping.

The kid is already sound asleep in his bed.

Heading to my bedroom, I manage it fine without stumbling or falling down, even with the aching foot. Unconcerned with brushing my teeth or taking off my clothes, because it's been a long time since I've had hard liquor like that, and it's taken its toll on me. Not to mention the fact that I almost died today. Almost got bitten by a stealthy zombie and twisted my damned ankle. It's a little swollen now, and I need to keep it elevated so it doesn't get worse.

Come, sleep, my bed says and I listen, flopping onto the mattress and gingerly taking off my boots. The one with the hurt ankle, I take extra care not to twist it too hard in any one direction. And before I know it, I'm lying back on the pillows and shutting my eyes.

The dreams are different tonight, probably due to the alcohol. Images, swirling and conflicting and confusing, float around in my head and take me to far off places that don't make any sense. Places with fairytales, breaking our rule #540. There are huge, hulking green creatures, swinging clubs and spinning hats and wolves running around in the wilderness. And then I'm back in the town hall and that damned door is there again. I know it's locked. It's always locked, but this time something is different. This time I have a key.

I stare at it in my hand, trying to focus on it and keep it from swimming out of my vision, but all I can do is hold it out to the door, ready to open it, ready to see what's inside. But suddenly my hand stops and just before the key can make contact with the lock, I can hear it click open all by itself. Well, that was easy, I find myself thinking.

The next thing I know, my eyes are open and I'm shooting up straight in bed. But that's a mistake because my hangover has started and I haven't had any water. Pain rushes to my head and I feel unnaturally nauseated for a moment. It passes, but none too quickly. Now, what the hell woke me up? I think to myself, my mind halfway on the once-locked door and the key and all that weird shit before it and halfway on focusing on my bedroom. Glancing around the room, I don't see anything right away, but my hand goes instinctively under my pillow to my gun, squeezing the comforting metal in my hand.

It had to be something, some kind of noise, a bird hitting the window maybe? Not likely. Maybe it was the kid. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, aware of my ankle and the need to be gentle with it. It hurts like a bitch to put weight on it, but I grimace and do it anyway, knowing it won't get better quickly if I use it too much.

And as my head clears a little more, I'm able to reach for the pitcher of water I keep on my dresser and pour myself half a glass. It goes down smooth and cool and I can actually decipher my own thoughts now. Now that I can see straight, I have a pretty good idea about what probably woke me up. This will be two nights in a row, and I'm willing to bet it's you out in the living room, making noise on purpose probably and waiting for me to wake up.

Damn you.

Limping out into the living room, I squint my eyes and they fall immediately on a shadowy figure sitting in that same spot on the couch. Damn you to hell for waking me up like this. Again. I shouldn't even bother looking at the door, but I do anyway, just for the hell of it and see that it's still closed and locked. Oh well, I think resignedly and hobble around the couch, sitting heavily next you. You don't react at all to my presence, so I assume you've been expecting me. The gun grates against the coffee table as I set it down, and finally you look over at me in the dark, and I can just see the shining in your eyes.

I try to speak, but my throat is all clogged from sleep and from the rum clouding my entire head, so I have to clear my throat once to get anything out.

"Couldn't sleep again?" I ask, wanting to be angry, but finding myself more unsurprised and frustrated than anything. You shake your head, dark curls swishing around your face and I can smell you, leather and smoke and rosemary. You don't speak at first, but when I don't prod you for more information, for more details into the reasons you've invaded mine and the kid's personal space again, you jump into it without prompting.

"We're running out of time."

My hands go to my temples, pushing at them and hoping the feeling of slow implosion that I feel will go away soon. I should have brought that water in here.

"You've said that. How much time, exactly?"

"A week, at the most."

I see your hand at that trinket again, and up close, I can see that it's a sand dial. Ah, counting down the days. I'm guessing to the time when my 'parents' are killed. Based on what you told me last night about this Zelena person and her new curse.

"That's not much time to save the world, is it?" I'm halfway joking, and I know you won't think it's funny, but I say it anyway and smile despite myself. At least someone will laugh at my jokes. All you do is stare straight ahead and I can see, even in the darkness, the lines of worry all over your face.

"It's not much time, and I don't know what else to do to convince you. If you won't come see what we've got to show you, I don't think you'll believe us."

"You can't blame me, though," I say, running my hands over my legs and then using both of them to carefully lift up my hurt ankle to prop up on the coffee table. The glare you send at it makes me almost want to laugh. It's obvious you like order and good manners and things like that. But the damn thing hurts, so I don't care. "It's not easy to believe two strangers who waltz in to my life and tell me that the past year has been a lie."

"I realize that. But if you would just trust us enough to see what we have to show you, then everything will make more sense."

I want to say no, that it's just not going to happen, because I don't want things to make sense. I want to go back to the way things were and continue living our lives blissfully unaware that there are worse things than zombies out there. That's true here in this world, people can be worse than zombies, and maybe rattlesnakes and black widow spiders and grizzly bears, but to believe in all this talk of fairytales and true love and magic? It's . . . I don't know why I'm resisting it so much. It just doesn't seem real.

But then again, you two have proven yourselves trustworthy today, and although we're probably even because I helped you save the pirate's life the other day, I feel like I owe you both this favor. Damn it. Another reason not to keep people around.

"If you'll go with us, you'll understand. You're the only one who can help, the only one with enough magic to help."

"Magic," I mutter, gripping my head again. "Fuck. And that's not even the worst part. How are we supposed to just pick up our lives here and go with a pair of strangers? How is that a rational thing to do?"

"None of this is rational," you say and then you square your shoulders up to me, imploring me with your eyes once more. "You have to believe me. Please. We need your help."

You hesitate, your eyes closing for just a moment and it looks like it's painful for you to say it. "Emma, I need your help."

It feels like a blow to the gut, hearing you say my name and hearing you plead with me. I'm getting the feeling you're not the sort of person who begs for anything. Ever.

"Stop calling me that," I say, but this time it's for a different reason than the no names rule. "The way you say it . . . god. I don't even know you. How can I help you if I don't even know you?"

My words don't faze you. They don't even make you hesitate. "But you do! You just can't remember yet. You . . . know me better than anyone."

Your voice goes quiet at that last part, like you've been betrayed and kicked while you were down and it makes my heart clench and I don't know why.

Again, your dark hair moves around your face as you shake your head. "Just come with us. Just come with us, we'll show you what we need to and then you'll see."

"And then what? When I see whatever it is you're going to show me and I believe you, then what?"

You can sense that I'm not going to like what you've got to say next because you hesitate, I can feel it hanging in the room between us. But you go for it anyway. "You can bring Henry and we'll go to Storybrooke and to the portal, open it again and go there."

And there it is. The notion of jumping into another world is just beyond me. "I'm not going to go jumping into some . . . portal with two crazy people! That's crazy! How do I know you two aren't going to just murder us and probably eat us?"

"I don't know," You say slowly, ignoring my comment about the cannibalism. I haven't actually seen that happen, besides the zombies of course. But you never know. "But I do know that your family is waiting for you there. Your parents. There's a life waiting for you there, and as hard as it is for me to say this and drag you back there, that life might be better than this one."

My breath falls out in a harsh scoff. "In a different world? I don't believe it. Is there electricity?"

You shake your head and look around with a shrug. "No, but electricity is gone from this world as well."

"It can come back. And we have some, a little solar power."

"And what about Henry? He has no friends. All he sees here is death and destruction."

You've hit the goddamned nail on the head. My second biggest fear, besides me dying and leaving him alone to fend for himself is that he isn't happy. He really doesn't have anyone, no one his own age and I'm so worried about him. You've caught on to that, and now you're exploiting it.

"He has me." But I know deep down that it isn't enough, and I'm grasping at straws, trying to come up with a reason good enough to hold on to this world, to this life that we've built.

"Is this the life you want for him?"

And just like that. You've got me. You're right and I'm wrong and I hate it when that happens. But with you it feels even more agitating than usual. I don't say anything, so you go on.

"And these . . ." You continue, gesturing to the window with your hands. "Zombies, what about them? They've taken over."

I give you a pointed stare. Normally you call them the 'undead.' They are more than that, though. "You said they were over there too."

"They are," you concede, "But they're not like this. They don't try to eat people, and they don't infect you. There are dangers of course, don't get me wrong. But, we need your help. And I'm not one to ask for help often. So please."

"But what am I supposed to do?" I manage to get out, tears filling my eyes because I know I'm losing this battle. "Henry and I have a good thing here, damn the crazy dreams and the zombies and the lack of very much food. We've survived for a year. Our apartment is safe."

A condescending laugh comes from your lips, and I know what you're thinking. You say it before I can stop you.

"It's not as safe as you'd like to think, dear." And talk about condescending. Before, when you said my name, it was one thing. And it felt familiar and strange and hard to explain. But when you call me 'dear', it feels like a roaring fire in my chest, like anger and protest and something like desire.

"Damn it," I protest, knowing I sound childish. "You have a magician's tricks. That's not fair."

"It's magic, Emma. Real magic."

"Whatever," I say because I feel petulant now and hurt that you've broken down every barrier I've set up in front of you. The first names, to hell with that you've demonstrated and called me Emma whenever you could. The locked front door. It's no problem for you and your so-called weak magic. What other walls are you going to kick down to get me to go along with you?

"Anyway, we're happy here. We were happy here until you two showed up and started screwing with my mind, started telling me I'm someone else and all these memories aren't real. This is real. These fucking zombies are real, and lady, whatever you have going on that you need help with, I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to figure it out by yourself. Because Henry is everything to me and I can't put him in any more danger."

Your face crumples suddenly and your eyes well up with tears, because it's the first time I've said his name and it makes me want to cry too. And I don't mean all of what I've just said, but I lashed out and I've hurt you by saying it. Or is it something else? Is there some other reason you're crying? You squeeze your eyes tight together and the tears fall out, running down your face.

"I know he is, Emma. I know."

I don't know how to comfort, how to make someone stop crying. It's not something I'm good at, consoling people. Probably because I'd never had much affection and consoling as a child. But with you, touch seems to help. It seems to heal. So I reach out, despite my aversion to any physical contact with mostly everybody, except the kid. And I run my hand gently along your arm, hoping to make you feel at least a little better, although, I'm still not exactly sure why you're crying and I don't know how to ask.

What it feels like to me is that you and I have history. What kind of history is the question and I would like to know the answer. Because maybe it's not just for your son that you've come back to try and save from the zombies. Maybe I play a part in it for you too.

"What's our connection, then? You cast this curse . . . and you're concerned about my parents for some reason, even though you say you cursed them originally in that world, but why would you want to bring us back there? How are you and I connected?"

"It's . . . complicated," you say and just as you do, quiet, socked footsteps shuffle from around the corner, alerting my attention beyond your head. You follow my gaze and turn around, your expression is that melting one again when you see him.

The kid comes out of his room then, rubbing his eyes and sleepy, and you're so strange around him, watching him with more tears welling up in your eyes, again. But this time you manage to hold yourself together. And I think you really might be telling the truth about being his mother. Either that or you're one hell of an actress. That doesn't mean it makes sense, because I have memories of being with him for his entire young life.

The kid sleepily considers you for a moment, curiously, and then he looks to me, a question written all over his face.

I almost stand up and go to him, but he's a teenager now and you're here, so he probably wouldn't like that.

"Couldn't sleep?" I ask, but I know why he's really up.

"I heard voices."

"Sorry for waking you," You say softly after a pause where I'm not sure what to say and my heart clenches at your tone.

"That's okay," he says, and it's typical of him, perfectly mannered and kind. No idea where he got that from. I'm the opposite. Maybe he learned it at school. Or maybe, if you're telling the truth, maybe he got it from you. He scratches his head, but his eyes are looking more alert now.

"Did you like the book?" you ask and he nods. His eyes light up, and he says thank you in his quiet, polite way. Looking back and forth from me to you, he gives us both a curious look, probably wondering what all the raised voices were about.

"Are you talking about going on the adventure?"

I hesitate, but only for a moment, because I haven't lied to him flat out and I don't plan on doing so.

'Yes, we are," I say, looking him in the eye. He nods, sits down next to me and I wrap an arm around him protectively, hoping he won't shrug me off. He doesn't. I catch sight of your face and its getting close to crumbling again.

"I'll let you get back to bed," you say, looking down at your hands and drawing in a calming breath, thinking probably that this is a conversation that I want to have with him alone. "But may I ask for one more thing?"

I nod, and I can feel the kid lean into me, still sleepy but not so much that he wants to miss whatever it is we're discussing, especially if it has to do with adventure.

"Please go with us tomorrow, just for one look."

I hesitate. I've already let you people into our home, well, sort of. One of you broke in. Two times now, you infuriating woman. And yet neither you nor the pirate has been aggressive. There's still time though.

"It was Hoo- uh . . Jolly Roger's idea, but it's a good one I think, and it may be our last one." Your breath inhales in deeply again, steeling yourself for my refusal, probably. "Go with us to the apartment tomorrow. It can be like another run for supplies. And maybe it will help you remember."

My expression is skeptical, I'm sure. But I'm going to do it, even if I'm about to act reluctant. "Where is this apartment?"

"It's not too far. He knows where it is. And if it doesn't help, then I promise we'll go and leave you alone."

I hesitate again, not because I don't want to see this place, but because the thought of you leaving feels wrong. I don't even know you and it feels like that's not the way things are supposed to be. Not that I'm a believer in the way things are supposed to be.

"Please. It will be the last thing I ask."

All I want is to be happy again. I want these zombies to disappear, for everything to go back to the way it was, for Henry to be safe and normal and grow up like a regular kid, not some zombie killing maniac child. So if this is what it's going to take to get rid of either the zombies or you and the one-handed guy once and for all, whether it feels right or not, then so be it. Besides, it can't hurt to scope out a few more buildings. One nod is all you need and relief washes over your features. Henry doesn't miss it.

"Can I come this time?" His voice is too earnest. He wants so badly to help, to be involved and to do as much protecting as I do, but he's so young and I'm so hesitant.

"Please, mom?"

He doesn't normally call me that, but I guess you and the stupid Jones guy have broken down our walls. I glance over at you and you're staring at him with that crumbly expression again and I don't know what to do. The kid's a pretty good shot with a crossbow, and I don't have enough reasons to tell him no. Besides the fact that he could be bitten or kidnapped or killed or god knows what else. But I've told him no too many times. Maybe this won't come back to bite me in the ass. Maybe.

"Okay," I say, reluctantly. His face lights up. "Really?"

"Yes, really. But you know the rules."

We're blood. He's my kid. So I know exactly when he's about to roll his eyes because that's exactly when I would've rolled mine. I elbow him sharply in the ribs just as the eyes start to go up.

"Ouch!" he cries under his breath, too high pitched and then clears his throat. His voice is just starting to get squeaky and just the tiniest bit deep. He's growing up and there's nothing I can do to keep him small. I miss his tiny hands and tiny toes and how they fit so perfectly into my hands. "Okay, okay. Yes, I know the rules. Stick to you like white on rice. Got it."

"Rule number 17?"

"Don't be a hero," the kid answers dutifully and I squeeze him around the shoulders. He's got this strange sense of gallantry and I had to make Rule 17 to keep him from doing crazy things to save me if I ever get into a little trouble. But not all the rules are so serious. "And rule number 10?"

"Do you have your exit buddy?"

That's probably my favorite one, next to the fairytale one because it involves a movie he used to love and we probably watched it four times in theaters when it first came out. Although it was awkward explaining to six year old Henry why he didn't have a father like Marlin to come search the oceans for him when he got lost. All I could think of to tell him was that I would comb and hunt through every jellyfish field and school of fish in the entire world to find him if he ever got lost. Thank god he accepted that, though, because he had so many questions and he's too damn smart for his age. Still is. Questions about his father come sparingly. Like on Father's day.

He's bouncing up and down with excitement. "Oh! We can call it Operation Amnesia and we'll figure out exactly what you forgot."

"Operation Amnesia, huh?" I say and glance over at a slight movement from where you are, catching the look on your face and god damnit, how can your expression get even more distraught? You like you're about to break in half.

"Right, let's go back to bed then."

He stands up, lumbers off with his recently gangling arms and legs flailing around the couch and back into his room.

I stare at you, watching you watch him, like you can't get enough of seeing him. Like you're dying of thirst and he's the only water for miles. It's strange. That's how I feel about him all the time. Like he's the only reason worth going through this hell.

You finally look back at me and I give you the smallest of my smiles, and to my surprise, you return it.

"I'll see you in the morning," you say, and your voice is hoarse, like you're struggling again to keep the tears at bay. I nod and stand up with you, walking, limping, you out to the door. And although I feel bad for not inviting you to stay on the couch, I still don't know you, and still don't trust you well enough not to murder both me and my son. But somehow I know deep down that that particular fate is not in our immediate future, at least not by your hand.

"Goodnight," I say and you walk through my door without another word, but I still see the hand that comes up to swipe the single tear running down your face.

I limp in to check on the kid and see him with a kerosene lantern on his bedside table, lighting up his face as he looks intently at a book. He left dinner early and came up here by himself while the three adults were downstairs drinking. Probably not a good example for the kid, but I needed it. Or wanted it. Same thing pretty much. Before I saw you out in the living room, he was soundly sleeping, and then we woke him up with our loud voices. And now that I've agreed for some reason to let him go with us tomorrow, I'm sure he's giddy as hell and ready to go. He knows better than anyone that reading before bed can make a person sleepy. So now he's wide awake again under the soft light and reading.

And I'm guessing that he's been occupying himself with the book you gave him earlier. I'd forgotten about it, especially after the rum, and it was so thoughtful of you to get it for him. But as I move closer, I can clearly see that this book is not the small paperback I saw him pick up earlier. Hatchet is a familiar book to me, the cover is one I remember, and the book the kid holds in his lap is not that book. This book is big and heavy and leather-bound. It looks old and soft and it has pictures on the pages.

"What do you have there?" I ask softly, not wanting to startle him, but he heard me come in and he simply looks up, smiling at me and patting the bed next him.

"It's a book I found in the living room earlier."

That's strange. I've never seen a book like this in our apartment, and believe me, I've scoured over every inch of this place making sure there are no weaknesses.

"Really? What's it about?" I ask and my eyes fall on the other book, Hatchet, lying forgotten and dog-eared next to the lamp.

"Fairytales," he says absently as he flips the page, completely absorbed in what he's reading.

"Fairytales?" I lean closer, read over his shoulder and he lets me, scooting the book halfway onto my lap. And it's the strangest thing I notice when he speaks next, but I can't quite put my finger on it.

"Yeah, I found it on the couch this morning after breakfast and I've been reading it all day while you were gone."

This book, these pictures as he flips through them, these almost realistic pictures are so damn familiar. They're like you, like I've met you before, like I've seen all of this in a movie once a long time ago. And then it hits me.

This is the stuff from my dreams.

"Holy shit," I whisper and don't even realize that the words have left my mouth.

"What?" the kid looks sharply up at me, thinking I've hurt myself again probably. But I can't answer. No, all I can do is stare straight ahead as flashbacks of my stupid recurring dreams fly through my mind. I grab the book from him, maybe a little too roughly, and start flipping through the pages, incredulous at the images I'm seeing. That town. The clock tower and the town hall and the door. No way. But the rest of the book is filled with fairytale images and all the typical stuff, and it just has to be a coincidence.

I slam the book shut, and my mouth is dry.

"You said you found this book in here?"

He nods, eyeing me cautiously, and I'm aware that he thinks I'm acting weird, but I can't help it. This is weird. And I'm still too drunk to be thinking about these things. I think the kid can smell it and sense it on me, too, because he leans away just a little.

"It's really a pretty good book . . ." he starts, but I hold my hand up, not wanting to hear anything else because my mind can't take any more. I have an idea where this fairytale book might have come from, seeing as you're the only one beside the kid and myself who have been in this apartment, but why you would leave it for him is beyond me. And why you have it is beyond me. And why it looks so much like my damned dream and sounds so much like what you've been telling me is completely and utterly beyond me.

So I stand up, wincing at my ankle and hand the book back to him without explaining myself. I just can't right now. It's gotta be the alcohol playing tricks on me. Stumbling back to my room, I fall on the bed for a second time that night and wrap my hand, like a child holding their blanket, around the gun hidden beneath my pillow. Too damn weird, I think to myself just before I fall back to sleep.


	12. George and Whale aren't satisfied.

**_A/N - TW - brief mention of abuse in Regina's marriage._ **

_Enchanted Forest – A week later._

It seems that without anyone to hunt after, terrorize or victimize, castle living for Regina is a bland thing. A hobby might be something worth taking up, or perhaps she could help out in the kitchens with Granny. That thought makes her want to laugh. Regina is probably the absolute last person Granny wants to help out in the kitchens, exemplary lasagna skills or not.

Anyway, her skills and magic are probably better put to use for the good of the villagers anyway. These people need a real leader, not sniveling Snow and Charming, but someone who actually knows about the ins and outs of running a place. And after what happened last week, first with Zelena in this castle, and then Neal and Belle sneaking off to Rumple's castle, (that in itself was quite the story), true leadership has gone by the wayside.

When Belle had returned with a limping and weak Neal, the man was scratched up and still bleeding, claw marks similar to the scars on her own arm. Flying monkeys, she had readily deduced, and Neal confirmed it. And the story they told about the library and Rumple's castle not actually being in ruins and finding the vault and raising Rumple from the dead, even when they knew Zelena had pushed them to do it, made Regina hold her head in her hands. How stupid could they really be?

And now Zelena has control of the Dark One, after Rumple gave that up to save Neal's life. But that wasn't even the end of it. As Belle and Neal finished recounting the story, sounds of thumping and moaning hit their ears. Something was outside the castle doors, and whatever it was, did not sound good.

"Oh yeah," Neal had said, eyes rolling back in his head. "Zelena sent a whole army of the undead after us. They're everywhere."

And with that, he had passed out in Belle's arms, leaving the rest of the castle to deal with the onslaught of undead.

* * *

Regina lounges on what was once her throne off to the side of the Great Hall. Instead of a single throne at the front of the room, however, newly instated pro tem rulers Snow and Charming have opted for a counsel-type fashion of governing their 'kingdom'.

That's the first of two things Regina has to focus on now, the things that will keep her mind off of what she's lost.

With no hope in the near future to return to Storybrooke, or the Land Without Magic at all, the new King and Queen, and Regina rolls her eyes inwardly at those names, thought it best to set up a new form of government, with laws and self-governance and a constitution and a military and a fire department and all that wonderful goodness.

And the other thing she has to focus on is her newly-discovered half-sister. Regina wants mainly to figure out a way to stop Zelena from destroying this world, if they are to stay here in it.

And if Regina is not to put herself to sleep because of interfering third parties, then she has resigned herself to finding the best way to help her sister out of a bad situation, to stop these undead from terrorizing everyone, as seemingly harmless as they may be, and to find a peaceable way to help Zelena find her love, seeing as how it is partially Regina's fault that the woman was taken in the first place.

Regina sighs, resting her chin in her hand, eyes drifting back and forth to the people currently in court, discussing how best to transport water from the recently uncovered wells to the village, the newly rebuilt village. Well, if she's honest, and if these people are honest, at the moment, it consists of only several dozen tents and campfires. Many people are still using the castle as their residence, for fear of the flying monkeys that struck them at the beginning, and now the undead that have started mindlessly knocking themselves against the walls.

"I'm sorry Mr. Spencer . . ." Snow starts, and Regina glances up from her reverie, watching with mild interest the outrage that dances across the man's face. His companion looks equally angered. Ah, the complexities of having two separate personalities and sets of memories.

"It's King George. Or it should be! I don't appreciate that I've lost my entire kingdom simply because some Evil Queen decides to demote me in another world."

Regina gives him a sneer.

"George, listen," Snow says patiently. "Your castle was destroyed, just like ours, along with everyone else's dwellings. So we have to build from scratch."

Although, Regina thinks, and knows that Snow is withholding information from these two, it seems that the castles weren't actually destroyed, simply knocked around a bit as if bombs had gone off nearby. But she holds her tongue, knowing that Snow and Charming must have a plan to retake their castle if it is indeed in good enough shape for it. And that means not telling the former King George about it, because that is the same castle he speaks of.

"Right," Charming says. "So you can either stick around, do your duty today on scouting and reconnaissance, participate in the elections, hell, run if you want to. Or you can find your own way elsewhere."

George gives the most menacing glare he can manage, while Dr. Whale stands next to him in silence.

"What about you, Whale? What will you do?"

He glances down, his feeble attempt at humility Regina guesses. "I'd like better facilities than this, my own laboratories and research halls."

Snow frowns. "You know we don't have anything like that."

"You could," Whale nods to Regina. "She has magic. She could magic everything we ever wanted."

Regina snorts through her nose. "Yes, yes, just hand over everything to anyone who asks. Now what kind of lesson in hard work would that be teaching you?"

Whale's face contorts in rage. "We are not here to be taught by you, Regina. We are here because your curse took everything away in the first place!"

"Technically Rumpelstiltskin's curse, but I enacted it, yes. And picked the nice town, gave you all jobs and cars and indoor plumbing, and decent lives for the most part," she spares a halfway-apologetic glance towards Snow and Charming and Belle. "What you should be mad about is having to come back here at all."

With that, George and Whale storm out, realizing that Regina is nowhere close to giving them what they want, and Regina is all too happy to see them go.

Court has become quite the nuisance, she realizes, now that the miniscule problems of Storybrooke, Maine have turned into monstrous problems with ogres and human waste and the undead and medieval warfare.

"Where do you suppose Hook has run off to?" Snow asks, looking around and for the first time, Regina notices he's gone. Idiot pirate, she thinks. It's been nice not having him around, but when she thinks about it, it is strange that he wouldn't be arm in arm with Neal, trying to figure out a way to get back to Emma.

"Any ideas, Regina?" Charming asks, pulling her from her thoughts. She jerks upright, having slumped in a very unladylike and unqueen-like manner in her chair, lost in her own thoughts.

"About?"

"Hook. Where he might be," Charming says with a frown.

"No. No idea. Maybe he's somewhere getting his other hand chopped off."

Double frowns meet her partially evil grin, and it falls from her face. Not quite as funny as I thought it would be, she thinks glumly.

"What do you think, Neal?" Snow asks, and the man pulls his head up from his hands. Looks like me, sitting over there alone and melancholy, Regina thinks sullenly.

"If he's the same Hook I've always known, then he'll be out searching for his ship somewhere."

"All of our belongings were supposed to come back with us, though, weren't they?" Charming directs his question at Regina again, seeing as she's the resident curse caster in the place.

"Yes, but a ship, obviously, would be put down in some form of water."

"There's your answer, then," Neal says, lowering his head back to his hands. If it wasn't high noon at the moment, Regina would expect him to have his face buried in a flagon of strong wine. After being sent away from Zelena's castle, the man has been restless, pacing back and forth all night, asking anyone and everyone for help and advice as to how to get his father back.

But after hearing his and Belle's story, about how Zelena tricked them into trading Neal's life for the Dark One's resurrection, Regina can't really blame him. It was a clever trick, she has to admit that, but it was low. And now that her sister has awakened the undead using the hearts that both Regina and Cora took in their lifetimes, there hasn't been time to put on a rescue of any sort for Rumple. Not that it would help, seeing as Zelena now has control of the Dark One.

Regina stands up, claiming to need a nap, while the rest of the court continues chatting about their next move, reinforcements against the undead and so forth. Snow spares her a second glance, however, fully aware that she might go up and try to put herself to sleep again.

But when Regina's eyes meet the younger brunette's, she knows they are filled with truth and that she has no intention of hurting herself any further. People need her help, and for better or worse, she'll stick around long enough to make sure they stay alive. Because whether she likes it or not, George was right about all of this being her fault. These people would have their possessions and homes if she hadn't cursed them to the Land Without Magic in the first place.

Up in her chambers, Regina moves across the luxurious rugs to her vanity, seating herself on and staring at her reflection. Tired eyes, hidden behind too much stark makeup and a severe hairstyle. Dark gowns and diving cleavage. She looks good, that much she's aware of. But for whom?

In the past, her looks would play an integral part in her schemes for power or manipulation, where both men and sometimes women would willingly fall into her bed. Sex was, is, and always will be a great form of negotiation, and especially for someone with power.

But now, she has minimal desire to sleep with anyone, much less use her lures to ensnare powerful people into her web. Like a black widow, she thinks. A husband murderer. After Leopold, it's a wonder people didn't call her that as well as Evil. Not that most people actually knew it was her.

Leopold, Regina thinks darkly to herself. That damned bastard got what he deserved, the things he did to her. And thoughts of his death resurface memories of what happened, of the man who carried out the murder, of Sidney Glass, her genie, her man in the mirror.

If everyone was returned to the Enchanted Forest, then what must have happened to Sidney Glass?

"Slave in the magic mirror, come from farthest space, through wind and darkness I summon thee. Speak! Let me see thy face," she tries out in a voice intended to be firm, but it comes out small and hesitant because those words haven't left her lips in over thirty years, and they sound foreign, strange, like they belong in a book and not in her mouth.

Instantly, the shadowy silhouette and outlined face of the genie appears in her mirror, his dark eyes darting back and forth from Regina to the room behind her.

"Sidney," she says with mild surprise.

"Your majesty," Sidney says, his head inclining ever so slightly.

"I didn't realize you would still be . . ." She trails off, because she should have realized. Where else would he be?

"Yes, of course. No one thinks to think about the cursed genie, stuck for eternity again, back in this mirrorworld, forever destined to gaze upon your face."

She expects to hear malice in his voice, but is surprised that there is none. Strange that his life, like many others, was changed for the worse when they first met.

"You're not angry with me?"

"I am not angry, no. My time spent in the mental ward of the hospital was an exception. I am angry about that. But you freed me from my prison by cursing us all to the Land Without Magic. And I lived outside that prison for almost three decades. Granted, most of that time, I wasn't aware of who I was, but all the same."

"Interesting way of thinking about it," Regina muses, staring down at her nails. She never thought she'd feel so guilty for all of it, or remorseful. But still, it all brought her to her son, and for that, she would not have regrets.

"May I assist you with something, my Queen?"

At least someone still has respect for her rightful title. Regina tilts her head at the mirror.

"Actually yes. I'm willing to bet my sister, Zelena, knows nothing of this connection I have with all mirrors and glass in this world. Let's find out, shall we, if she has uncovered any of Rumple's mirrors."

And after a moment, when the connection has been made and Sidney has disappeared back into the mirror, Regina gets a clear glimpse into Rumple's castle. The first place she can see is his Great Hall and although it seems to be dusted and straightened up, in far better shape than her castle when she first entered it from a thirty year absence, it is also completely empty.

It looks to be in much better condition than what Neal and Belle described, and that must be attributed to the Dark One's power.

Obviously Zelena has been here, but where she is now, Regina can't tell. Alas, Regina thinks, spying into an empty castle is no fun at all. She takes hold of her hand mirror and makes her way back downstairs, ready to share the news that she has a new insight into what the Witch might be planning.

* * *

**Zelena turns away from the looking glass after Regina made her exit from the rest of the group, trudging up the stairs, unaware and uncaring of what her sister might be up to in her own chambers. As long as the woman doesn't try another permanent sleeping spell, then all will be well. She has seen all she needed to through her looking glass in Regina's Great Hall, the unrest and revolt already taking place within the Charmings' ranks.**

**Now is the time to split them all apart, she decides, after having seen the fighting between the Charmings and the newcomers, mainly the ones who want some semblance of power. All it takes is a little bit of chaos, just a little unrest, and everything falls apart. It's too easy, really, Zelena thinks to herself, especially after the whole bunch of them received a taste for the undead. It was a spell she came across in her Grimerie well before the Storybrooke people came back, a way to reanimate the dead, but one would need their hearts to control them.**

**Not a problem, Zelena decided and the whole plan was made that much simpler after discovering Regina and Cora's hefty collection of hearts down in the crypt. All those poor pitiful people, heartless and controlled by those two power hungry witches.**

**These undead, however, are not as vicious as she might have liked, but they are certainly difficult to kill again, simply rising and continuing doggedly in their mission, regardless of their injuries. They would do for now, to keep the newcomers busy anyway.**

**And as for the present task, Zelena buttons up her riding cloak, adjusts her hair in the mirror and takes hold of her sturdy broomstick. Now is the time to split the whole group apart, to divide and conquer them and figure out each and every one of their weaknesses. All it will take is a little manipulation.**

**Only fifteen tik toks later, Zelena spots them as she soars above the trees, two men on horseback, scouting at the very edges of Regina's territory. As she descends through the sparse branches and lands silently on a branch, Zelena can hear their arguing voices carrying easily through the still afternoon air.**

**"I was a king once. And now look at me. Doing the bidding of two morons and an evil bitch."**

**"Well, I was a doctor, a scientist close to discovering greatness and I'm in the same boat as you now."**

**Obviously these two want power and want nothing more than to be on the winning side. And now is the perfect time to strike, to give them both what they want. For the moment.**

**Zelena descends to the ground, making little to no noise as she stands behind the mounted men.**

**"Hello, boys," Zelena says and grins widely at the way they jump in surprise, their horses giving a start and almost throwing them both to the snow covered ground.**

**Recovering quickly, both men draw their weapons. The older man, George, the former king, brings forth a bow and notches an arrow to it as if he hadn't been in a world sans archery for almost thirty years. His companion, the younger doctor Whale, draws a short sword, ready to hack her to pieces, she guesses.**

**"The Wicked Witch!" Whale yells and kicks his horse forward, charging her, ready to take her down. Who knows what he's thinking, Zelena sighs to herself as she sidesteps him easily, ducking away from his swinging weapon, perhaps that he'll be a hero and receive everything he desires if only he brings back the witch's head. Alas, the Witch is not currently prepared to lose her head, and his sword appears instantly in her hand.**

**Almost comically, Whale makes an about-face after missing her and swings the hand that should contain the sword, looking up at it when it feels empty and staring in confusion at it. Zelena cackles and out of her peripheral vision to the right, she spots the arrow headed straight for her heart, but her hand is faster. She bats it aside easily, and as it falls to the ground with a puff of green smoke, it vanishes.**

**"Now that nonsense is out of the way, I have a proposition for the both of you," Zelena says, working to make her breath steady. That little bit of magic was enough to drain her energy. Both of the men watch her warily, fully realizing now that they stand no chance against her.**

**"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation as you passed me by a few moments ago. And in that conversation, I gathered that the two of you are unhappy with your current roles in society."**

" **Why should we trust you. Why should we speak to you?" Whale says, squinting his eyes.**

**Zelena shrugs. "It's either me or those fools you're currently running around for."**

**"That's true," George says slowly, regarding her carefully, and Zelena can see that he's been itching to tell this to someone else other than the equally whiny doctor. "We've both lost our titles since returning to this land, and we feel that they should be returned to us."**

**"Ah, yes," Zelena nods solemnly. "I understand what it's like to be denied something you rightfully deserve. Well, what do you two say to a nice reprieve from this scouting mission. Say, some of Rumpelstiltskin's finest ages wines sound lovely right about now, don't they? And while we're there, I'll let you in on my plan. That is," she pauses for dramatic effect. "If you two are interested in reclaiming what is yours?"**

**"We heard you have the Dark One's power?" Whale asks with a speculative, curious expression. Zelena nods, pulling forth the dagger from her cloak and showing it to the two men. It gleams dangerously with Rumpelstiltskin's name in the afternoon sunlight.**

**A shared glance between them is all the agreement they seem to need. George nods curtly towards the Witch, and the two of them urge their horses towards her as she leads the way back to Rumpelstiltskin's castle.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Land Without Magic. April 3, 2013**

The coffee, like I thought it would be, is delicious. Smooth and strong and joltingly caffeinated, it's just what I needed. And it looks like you and pirate are enjoying it just as much. God, it's been too long.

And soon enough, we're all getting ready for the day's expedition: Operation Amnesia is what we're calling it. I'm nervous as hell for the kid to be out there with us, but it's going to be okay. It's going to be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen.

I hope.

During breakfast, there's something different about you. Something more hopeful I suppose. You're nervous still, certainly, still toying with that golden trinket around your neck with the time supposedly running out of it. But you're definitely in a better mood than you were last night. And strangely enough, you're able to convey that feeling to me. It happens all so nonchalantly.

I'm sitting with my ankle propped up on the table, a bit hungover from the night before so already I'm not feeling so great. I'm rubbing at the ankle, trying to get the last bits of swelling to go down, and you walk by me, as casual as you please, and lay a brief hand on the ankle. It happens so fast, I don't even have time to react. But you squeeze, tightly, and holy shit that hurts!

After a glow that lasts a second, you release my ankle and walk back into the building to gather up your things for the day. No big deal.

My ankle throbs for a moment as I stare at it, and then suddenly the swelling is completely gone and it no longer hurts. My eyes bug out. I wiggle the foot around in its socket, testing it for soreness, and nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You've healed me.

I look around, wondering if anyone else saw this, but Henry's nose is stuck in that damned story book and the pirate is sharpening his sword. No one saw it. So I don't know what else to do but pretend like it was no big deal. I suppose I'll thank you later for it, and just be glad I don't have to deal with a hurting ankle on this run.

When breakfast is finished up, we gather up all of our needed supplies. And off we go, with me moving right along, not slowing us down with my pain. The trek to the apartment is longer than I thought it would be. The pirate said it wasn't far, but it turns out it's quite a few blocks away. It takes us a good thirty minutes to make it across the park and up 5th avenue.

You and the pirate tell me we're headed to Wooster Street, way downtown, and I know it's going to take a while on foot, but we don't have much choice. The streets are still pretty crowded with zombies and crashed cars and all kinds of debris people hurled from high windows, hoping to have some effect on the madness below. It's still smelly, I note, catching a whiff of a particularly pungent dead person beneath an upturned car. Most of the dead around our neighborhood I dragged several blocks away and burned in a pile in the middle of the street.

Thinking of that, absurdly, takes me back to my childhood, watching Monty Python and all those people in the middle ages, calling out 'bring out your dead' and people would just pile the bodies on, no big deal. Some of them weren't even dead yet. But this isn't Monty Python. This is real, and the smell is as real as it gets.

It wasn't easy, setting fire to former people, no. It was pretty hard, actually. Plus, they didn't catch fire very well, but I managed to scrounge up some fryer oil from a nearby fast food joint. That kept 'em burning pretty good. But I had to high-tail it out of there when the flames really picked up because light attracts more walkers, and it definitely attracts regular, alive people. And those regular, alive people are usually the worst kinds.

They want to steal your food and your guns and your water and usually if they're guys, they haven't had sex in a while and that's not a good combination either, for a single mother and a young son. So I've had to really keep my distance from people. For the most part.

My attention is whipped back to the present when I poke my head briefly around a corner, just to check out the next street and to see how thick the walkers are. And they're pretty thick. Just recently they've started congregating together, all stumbling around in packs I've noticed, sort of like the old used up robot companions in iRobot. They're almost human, so they have some human qualities. Seeking out the company of their kind.

Strange. But that's not the weirdest thing.

The weirdest part is that . . . I know this is going to sound nuts, but I think they can communicate with each other. Somehow, their moans are starting to seem like a language. A primitive one, no doubt, but still, I'm really starting to think that they're helping each other try to catch their prey. Because otherwise, how could they be winning against humans with firepower and planes and functioning brains?

And, if I'm not mistaken, I really think they're starting to move a little faster. They shouldn't be, I know that. I've seen the movies and I know that they're dead, and they're decaying, and they should just rot away at some point. But I don't think that's happened. They're just sort of, stuck where they are, dead and alive all at once, and hungry for our flesh.

Anyway, the 40 block trip takes forever, most of the morning actually, and I can see the sun right smack in the middle of the sky through the buildings of downtown. But for the most part, we haven't encountered anything terribly out of the ordinary, staying mostly to alleys and sides of buildings and trying to stay quiet. The kid does great, sticking to my side like glue, just like he said he would. And he doesn't say a word the entire time, just nudges my shoulder when he spots a crowd of walkers so that we can go another way to avoid them.

When we finally get to the address, I stare up at the building while the kid looks around, clutching that crossbow in his hands like there's no tomorrow. I know he's got to be nervous, being this far from the apartment, but he would never say so. I can see it in his eyes, just a little bit of fear pushed backwards by months and months of pent up longing for adventure. Ever since our incident with our friends-turned-zombie, I've tried to keep him sheltered and inside as much as possible. I know, I know, probably not the best thing for a growing teenager, but what could I do? He's all I have and I don't know what I'd do if something happened to him.

"Shall we go up?" the pirate says, tired of standing there, huddled next to the steps and out of sight. I look around one more time, poking my head around the corner to check out the fire escapes, just to make sure I've calculated every available route in case something goes wrong. Then I nod.

"Yeah. Let's go."

But just as I step forward, the pirate holds up his wooden hand, halting my progress, leans in close to me so that you and the kid can't hear, and then he fixes his eyes on the kid.

"It might not be a good idea for the boy to go in there."

"Why the hell not?"

His eyes give him away. They look like the kid's for a moment, tinged with fear and just a little bit of hesitation.

"You'll see. Shall I keep him down here?"

"In the hall," I say, agreeing because there are probably walkers up there. But I don't trust Jolly, and it's possible that he'll try to kidnap the kid, try to take him away from me while I'm looking at whatever it is you're going to show me. And it's this same crazy scenario I can see in my mind, where you both have this all planned out, where you've been stalking me and that's how you know everything about me. And then you're going to distract me while we're looking at whatever and the pirate is going to take my kid.

So, if it's not a good idea to have the kid in the apartment, I at least want him near me out in the hall.

Smells of rotting corpses and food and human waste and god knows what else hits all four of us full force as we make our way through the half-lit hallways and towards the stairs. Smoky light filters in through the windows at the ends of the halls. This is how most buildings smell when I enter them. People turned on each other, hoarding their food and supplies, and then when they ran out, they had to venture outside. And venturing outside is dangerous, especially with no weapons and no experience in hand to hand combat.

Granted, at the beginning, the walkers were easier to get away from, but they multiplied quickly, and things got worse because of the ungodly amount of people in this city. Most of them evacuated of course, but those that didn't haven't fared well, as far as I can tell.

We climb the stairs, four stories to the middle of the building and as we walk down the hall slowly, listening to every little creak and groan of the floor, I try not to look at the doors. I don't want to think about what could be inside them. Dead people usually wait behind closed doors. At least that was the case with my building. It took a while for the smell to go away after I cleared them out.

It's quiet in this building. Almost too quiet, I can't help thinking, as we slow to a stop outside 407. The door is shut, and I have a feeling it's locked too. Why wouldn't it be? And the feeling that I'm not going to like whatever is inside this apartment, I can't seem to shake.

"Okay," I say, turning to look at you and the kid and the pirate. "Anything I need to prepare for before I open this door?"

Your expression is unreadable, and what the pirate is thinking, god only knows. He keeps looking at me like the sun shines out of my ass, and I wish he'd stop. The kid steps willingly to the side when the pirate pulls him a few feet down the hall, giving me and you space. I send him what I hope is a reassuring look, although I feel far from assured at this point.

Reaching out for the door handle, you turn it once and it sticks. Locked.

I don't waste any time because my bad feeling is only getting worse. Bending down to one knee, I pull out two tools from a small leather pouch and set to work on picking the lock. It's an easy one and doesn't take long before the lock clicks and the knob turns. The door swings open with a gentle push and you follow me into the room.

Afternoon light shines through the window straight ahead, and because they're all closed and the air conditioning no longer works, it's stifling inside. But the smell isn't bad. Not like in the other places. So far so good. It's bizarrely furnished, a typically ratty couch and scuffed coffee table to the right, tiny kitchen to the left with barely any room for a counter and fridge. A short hallway leads back to what can only be a single bathroom and bedroom.

I step carefully, feeling you right behind me because your presence makes me buzz with awareness, looking around and making sure we don't have any company. There's no one, not even in the bedroom with a double bed and dust-covered duvet. As a matter of fact, everything in this apartment is dust-covered. It's worse than other places. There's dust there, too, definitely, but not like this. This looks like several years' build up rather than just eight or nine months.

"So what are we looking for?" I ask, and my voice is muffled by the rugs and the couches and the weird artifacts whoever the owner of this apartment has collected. When I turn to look at you, you're looking around with as bewildered an expression as I'm wearing.

"I'm not sure," you say, and my eyes bug out at you.

"What do you mean, you're not sure?" I demand, turning fully to face you. "You two dragged me and my son all the way here and you don't know what it is that's supposed to be jarring my memory?"

Your eyes spell out your apology and I've forgiven you before I was ready to. Damn you.

"I've never been here before. Killian has, briefly, but . . ."

I don't hear the rest of what you're saying because I'm staring at the window. And I ignore the fact that you've used a name and broken the rule again. There's a desk directly beneath the window, an old phone from the 1980s sits to the side and several pencils litter the table here and there. Dust covers everything. But that's not what my eyes are drawn to. Nope, my vision goes directly to the most stark item in the entire room. A dreamcatcher hanging smack in the middle of the window. It certainly looks familiar, but it just can't be. It can't be the same one.

The memories of those days with him, that bastard, that lovable, infuriating bastard, float through my mind like lazy clouds. Finding him in the bug the first time we met when I was trying to steal his stolen car, making love with him under the stars on one of those rarely clear summer nights in Seattle, breaking into a motel room and finding this dreamcatcher, this very same dreamcatcher that a family had left behind.

He thought it was weird at first, called it flypaper for nightmares, which I ignored because I loved the idea that this Native American thing was supposed to keep all of one's bad dreams away. The idea fascinated me and I kept it. And then he kept it. I move towards the window and get a closer look at it, and I see that it is indeed the same one.

"This is . . ." I start, taking the dreamcatcher in my hands and staring intently at it. The wrapped string is still as soft and blue as it was all those years ago. This is unreal. How could he have lived here and I didn't know it? How could he walk the same streets I did for who knows how long and never cross my path? Granted, I was in Boston for a good while, but still.

"This is Neal's apartment, isn't it?" My voice is strained, sort of scratchy and dry because this is too strange of a coincidence. How can you know Neal? How can the pirate know Neal? You nod, taking a step towards me to see the item, but I keep it in my hands, not really wanting to let go of it. That bastard. The pain of him leaving me, abandoning me like everyone else had in my entire life until my kid, hits me hard and I have to take a deep breath and focus hard on not letting tears form in my eyes.

You give me time, but after a moment, you speak quietly. "He lived here for a while, during your time in Boston, I suppose. Before you came to Storybrooke."

"You know I lived in Boston?" Of course you do, though, because you said the kid came to find me there to bring me back to Storybrooke. The stupid tears have formed anyway, and I'm glad and thankful for the pirate now that he suggested Henry stay outside. I had told him about his father, that he was an asshole who left me out to dry, but explaining that Neal was here and close to us and we didn't even know it would be too much.

"I know a lot about you, Emma," you say quietly and I'm thankful that you don't push me and don't expect me to meet your eyes right away. You must know then, that I don't like crying in front of people and that I don't like showing weakness.

"Apparently, more than I know about myse . . ." I trail off because something else has caught my eye across the room. Something strewn across a bookshelf. It's a red strap, connected to a dated-looking camera and I could've sworn I saw a name stitched on it.

You turn sideways with me as I step around you and head for the bookshelf, pawing at my wet eyes, and when I reach it, I can see clearly what's written across the strap.  _Henry._

"His camera," you say, your voice almost a whisper, and I whirl with it in my hands to face you.

"This is Henry's?" I ask, because I've never seen it, but to my knowledge, Neal doesn't or didn't have anyone named Henry in his life. He doesn't know that Henry exists. And if this camera is my kid's, well, that's just not possible.

You nod, reaching out to feel the embroidered name. "I cross-stitched this for him, took me three days. I gave him this camera on his ninth birthday."

"His ninth . . ." I trail off again, feeling light-headed. I was there for his ninth birthday. It was in Boston and we went to the zoo and I threw him a surprise birthday party back at our old apartment and there were no cameras like this anywhere. "This is impossible."

You're quiet, letting me work through it. And after a moment, I frown at you. "How does Neal know about my son?"

"It's another long story," you say. "But to put it briefly, he found out that the curse had been broken in Storybrooke, but didn't come back until you and Henry and Neal's father paid him a visit here in New York."

"His father?" Now that's one I really do want to hear about because Neil said his father abandoned him. "And that's how this camera got here?"

You nod, eyes intent on mine, that unwavering gaze not giving up any deception. "So I've been here before, but I don't remember it. And my son knows his father but doesn't remember it. And I've seen Neal again after over a decade and don't remember it."

"That's right," you say, voice still quiet because you know that this sounds ridiculous. It sounds ridiculous, but this damned camera is sitting right here in front of me. And this is definitely Neal's apartment. There's simply no way this could have been set up because no one knows about mine and Neal's connection with the damned dreamcatcher. The camera you could've planted, certainly, but the dreamcatcher, no way.

Panic starts to fill my chest, because just a shred of belief has pierced my heart. Shit. Shit Shit. How could I forget this? This can't be made up. It makes sense now, what you've been saying, but it's still bizarre and sounds unreal and I don't want to believe it. But then again, maybe I'm just afraid. No, scratch that, not maybe. I'm definitely, definitely afraid.

But what if this is all Neal's doing? What if he's gone through this elaborate ruse just to get me back? That bastard. I look sharply up at you.

"So where is Neal now?"

You hesitate, and I can see now that the other shoe has dropped. What is that expression on your face? Guilt? Sadness? It's not the face of someone who is working alongside a con artist.

"What happened to him?" I demand because you still haven't answered. Your lashes flutter as you open your eyes again, holding your hands out in supplication.

"I don't know for certain, Emma . . ." and this seems partly true from your pained expression, but I sense that there's more to the story, more that you don't want to say, more that I probably don't want to hear. "What happened to him?" I ask more firmly this time, gripping the sides of the dreamcatcher until it bends and almost breaks, splintering a fraction beneath my fingers.

"He . . ." you start and then clear your throat. "He jumped through a portal several months ago from the Enchanted Forest to here, and no one has heard from him since."

"You mean, he's here somewhere? He's in New York?"

I don't know what the emotions are that flicker through my stomach, but the first one is fear. I'm afraid to introduce Neal to my kid. I don't want my son to be hurt like I was. I don't want him to have to feel that pain because I know that abandonment is a thing for Neal and his family, from what little he told me back then about his father and mother. But you shake your head.

"More likely, he's still in Storybrooke, or maybe in Boston looking for you. But he could be here somewhere, or somewhere between here and there. There's no way to tell."

"Several months you said?"

You nod, and the furrow between your brows deepens. "How did he manage to get through so soon and it took you and the pirate all this time?"

But then I shake my head, holding up my hand to stop any further speech. It's too much right now. And daylight is fading fast, so we should probably start heading back. Before I do that, though, I need to say something to you, something that has been floating in the front of my mind ever since I saw that dreamcatcher.

"So how am I going to believe you? How am I going to get my so-called memories back?" I'm terrified, but these connections have me thinking, and what I want is to find out more. Why is it that you're so damned determined to get me back to this Enchanted Forest as you call it, and why is it that what you've said makes some sort of crazy sense, and why is it that I feel like I should believe you?

"Hook was on to something," you say, eyes drifting out to the hallway. The door is still open, but I doubt either of them heard what was said in here. "As daft as he may appear. True love's kiss might actually jar your memory, or return it completely."

"It's just. . . surreal."

"I know."

I shake my head.

There's no time to sit and ponder however, because there's a thumping noise out in the hallway, followed by a muffled yell and then the kid's yelp. I know that yelp. When he's scared at night, or when he was little and there was something outside his room that frightened him or gave him bad dreams, he would make that sound.

So whatever is out there, it's a bad thing. And soon after, I hear the pirate curse, followed by another thump. You and I stare at each other for a split second, and then it's a blur of movement, me first because I'm a little faster and we're out in the hall.

But it's too late.

There are walkers, two of them. One is running towards the pirate and my kid down the hallway and the other one has noticed us back by the apartment door. They must have come out of a closet or another apartment and taken Jolly by surprise.

The walker lumbers towards us, its eyes unseeing, its fleshy putrid smell wafting towards me even though it's ten feet away, and I catch one last glimpse of the kid and the pirate before Jolly Roger pulls him around the corner and away from me. Panic clenches at my heart, squeezes tight and doesn't let go.

"Henry!" I scream, not caring that the walker is getting closer.

"It's okay, mom!" he yells from behind the wall. "We'll go down this stairway, meet you at the bottom."

But no, that's not how I want this to go. I want to take both of these fuckers out and get back to my son. He is NOT going to be separated from me, not for even a few minutes, because I don't think I can handle it. No, I know I can't handle it, because he's all that I have. My gun is out of my pants in a flash and the walker's head in front of us explodes in two quick bursts. Rule # 2 - Double Tap, remember?

It crumples to the ground and I've stopped feeling bad for these things a while back because even though they used to be people and they used to have families and they used to feel pain, now they're monsters and all they want is to harm my son. I jump over it, following the walker chasing the pirate and the kid, wondering why Henry doesn't just take it out with the crossbow, but I guess he's just been caught by surprise and hasn't had time to get off a good shot.

As for the pirate however, there's no excuse for not taking the thing out right off the bat. Maybe he's a little gun-shy, or zombie-shy after this last encounter with one up close and personal. And just as I round the next corner and get an eyeful of my kid and Hook disappearing down the stairwell, more walkers appear from an adjoining hallway, attracted by the sound of my gun apparently and headed straight for me.

"Fuck!" I growl as I turn around quickly and come face to face with you. It's much too close, and I've only done it accidentally, but I can't say that I mind. You do smell nice, even in the midst of this smelly zombie herd. You turn as quickly as I do, and my hand goes to your lower back, pushing you along back in the opposite direction, so that we can get the hell out of here and get back to the kid.

I manage to get in front of you at some point, because I'm experienced with guns and knives and I figure that besides your basic sword skills, all you can really do is your magic tricks, so it's probably best that I'm in front. And I take the stairs in the opposite stairwell two at a time, all the way to the bottom, but by the time I burst forward from the door and out into the afternoon sunlight, I look around and don't see anything but more walkers.

Damn it.

I figure Jolly and Henry's stairwell probably comes out around the side of the building, probably that door I scoped out on my initial walk around, so I step around the corner, fully aware that several zombies are headed towards us, lumbering slowly though, and my heart is pounding like it's never pounded before.

But I can't focus on that right now. I've got to find my kid. I don't see anything around the corner except more zombies headed in the opposite direction. Shit shit shit. They've probably chased them both around to the next street. And now there's too many of them to fight off. Now is the time for running, for getting to safety and the kid knows the way.

He's been out here enough times and we've been over our plans enough times to where he can navigate these streets in his sleep. As long as he can get back to the park, he's golden. I pray that he can manage it, because I don't trust the pirate at all. About as far as I could throw him.

Give me a month to build a catapult big enough and it might be pretty far, but as for right now, no way. I'm just about to motion towards you so that we can follow them, maybe catch up with them on a parallel street, but several more walkers have seen us and now the only open path is to our right.

You seem to have already noticed this and you grab my arm, and through the material of my clothes, the buzzing isn't as pronounced, but I see soon that our options are limited, so to the right it is. A brisk jog is not enough anymore to outrun these things. It's like I said, they've gotten faster, and smarter. It's like they were working together to flush us out of there. But that can't be possible. It just can't be.

This street is familiar to me; I've been here before and if I'm not mistaken, there's a restaurant right around the next corner. At a full sprint, you're right on my heels, the kid's camera in your hands. I've dropped the dreamcatcher some time ago, but it's the last thing on my mind. The oncoming horde is behind us and I know that this restaurant is our one solid hope to let them pass by. Hopefully they can't smell us.

And as I round the corner to our left, there it is, boarded up, but the door doesn't look impossible to get into. I stop in front of it, brace myself, and facing away from it, I give it one solid back kick and it bursts open. All I can hope is that there aren't more walkers in here.

We hurry inside, and you move to close the door, busted as it is and I pull a chair up to it and cram it beneath the handle, knowing that if they really want it, it would only take a few of them to push past this. I'm worried they can see us through the slits in the window's boards, so I grab your hand, skin to skin and the buzzing is back, but I have to ignore it and pull you towards the counter.

It's an old diner and we duck down behind the counter and I work to catch my breath and slow down my heart rate. It's out of control, damn the fact that I'm in prime physical condition. My son is not with me, and I'm panicking. I'm not certain where he is. I do know he's with a pirate man that I'm not completely comfortable with and that doesn't help.

My breathing doesn't get better; no, it gets worse. The gasps of air are coming in shallow heaves and you watch me with concern etched all over your face, moving a hand back to rest on my shoulder.

"Just breathe, Emma. Breathe." And I'm trying, but I'm panicking. I'm freaking out.

"I. . . I can't." I gasp, and you shush me, rubbing my back as my body moves heavily up and down, my lungs contracting and relaxing as I struggle for a good breath of air. Something soothing flows gently through me, and when I look up, I can see you focusing on me, something light and wispy emerging from your palms to my back. It's working. You're helping me like you helped me this morning with my ankle.

At last, I manage it, telling myself that it's going to be okay. That he's a survivor, just like me. He's going to be fine. He'll be okay.

"There you go. Just breathe. That's better," you say soothingly and it's nice to have you here, to help me through this.

This isn't something that's ever happened to me before and I don't really know how to handle it. I figure this must be what an asthma attack is like. Or a panic attack. Fear of not being able to get a breath. But you stay there, breathing with me, calming me back down, helping me with your magic, reassuring me that Henry will be okay. That he has to be okay.

* * *

"Boston to Manhattan, over." I have to whisper it, because there's a whole horde outside this door and if they hear us, we're dead meat. My head snaps down to make sure my own volume is turned to low. A minute passes. Two minutes. They're the slowest minutes of my life. We're both holding our breath, close together behind the counter, broken glass in shards all around us. I've been in this restaurant before, back before the plague hit. And apparently Neal lived near here at some point. Shit.

Waiting.

Waiting.

And finally, finally, a crackle comes across the airwaves. Thank god. Or whoever. If there is anyone. Probably not, considering this fucking plague of zombies.

"Loud and clear Boston. Go ahead," comes Henry's half-whispered, out of breath voice. A gush of air leaves my lungs and I can feel the air around us deflate, the tension releasing from both our shoulders. He's okay. He wouldn't have answered back unless it was safe to do so.

"Rule number 3. Over." He knows what this means. Home base. Rule number 3 is always get back to home base.

"Roger that, Boston. En route. Over and out." .

I smile because he loves this. This semi-police chatter. I haven't the slightest if this is how the radio talk really goes, but Henry gets a kick out of it, and it really is useful. All I know is that we sound pretty damn close to the old Dragnet episodes back when reruns used to come on. Back when the TV still came on. Back before the world went to hell.

"Rule number three?" You say quietly and your eyebrows furrow in at all this foreign code talk. But there's amusement in your eyes, dancing around in there next to the relief.

"It means get back to home base. He's okay. Thank god he's okay."

You nod and lean your head back against the counter, closing your eyes for a brief moment, and I take the opportunity to study your face. All the dreams I've been having, they've been scattered and repetitive up until you and this Jolly Roger guy appeared and broke my rule number 9. Also my fairytale rule. Which number was that again? I can never remember. And when you arrived, I started dreaming more vividly about crazy stuff: dragons and purple smoke and ogres and dwarves and all kinds of shit. Again, breaking the fairytale rule, because cinderella and snow white and sleeping beauty, that shit's just not my cup of tea.

And yet here you are, telling me that it absolutely is my cup of tea, that I'm so up to my eyeballs in fairytales that it's not even funny. And yet, you're real. You're flesh and bones and you have dark circles beneath your eyes that tell me you haven't been sleeping. You're worried, and stressed, and anxious, and I still don't know you.

But I feel like I do know you. It's the most bizarre thing. I do know you, somehow. And you know Henry. I can just feel it.

You're certainly not lying, because I can usually tell when people are lying, but all of this is too damned far-fetched to possibly be true. And you know Neal. And Jolly Roger knows Neal, and apparently Neal knows Henry, but that can't possibly be true because that bastard Neal got me pregnant and abandoned me to be arrested and blamed for his thievery and I haven't seen him since.

And now Neal is . . . back in this world? Fighting the zombies somewhere? I took him for dead a long time ago, but if Neal is one thing, it's resourceful. And if he's another thing, it's a survivor. Also an asshole, but that's beside the point.

At last you open your eyes, you can probably feel me looking at you, watching you rest, and you meet my gaze. And god your eyes are so much more full of color than I originally thought. Up close like this, I can see the lighter browns and specks of gold, the dilated pupils in the early evening half-light of the diner. They're beautiful. Again, I wonder what our connection was, if all this is true. I want to find out.

Whatever you read on my face, it shakes some sense back into you and you stand up, eyes darting around wearily, looking out for more zombies as your brush the dust and debris from your leather vest and pants. Following your lead, I stand next to you, hand firmly on my gun just in case we get any more surprises.

"Can I trust this Jolly Roger guy?"

You nod, but your jaw clenches slightly. "Henry will be safe with Hook. He has no reason to take Henry, it's you the pirate wants."

I ignore the part about you saying my son's real name and the eyeliner guy being a pirate and the fact that he's apparently Captain Hook. Might as well be goddamned Jack Sparrow. And who forgot to invite Elizabeth Swan? She was always the best part of the movie anyway, or so I thought. And she had a nice last name, to boot.

"Me?"

You clear your throat and start turning in circles slowly, looking around for who knows what while you speak. "Well, obviously he tried to kiss you before, thought he was your 'True Love'."

Your eyes roll and you over exaggerate your air quotes. A laugh almost escapes my lips because you seem so prim and proper and that gesture was anything but. And the hint of jealousy. . . Interesting. Our connection rolls again through my mind. What happened between us? Why do I feel inexplicably drawn to you, magnetically, electrically. Is it this magic business? I have so many questions. But I stick with the most important for now.

"True Love's kiss. Why would that jar my memories?"

"Sometimes magic is strange and unexplainable. But it could work. I cursed you, changed your memories, so maybe True Love's kiss could break that curse."

"But . . . I'm still not clear on how a kiss would do that."

"Because, Emma, True Love's kiss is supposed to cure anything," you say it bitterly, and I ignore again once that you've said my real name. I'm starting to like the way it sounds rolling from your lips. My frown, however, appears at something else in your sentence. The bitterness.

"But you don't think it will work for some reason?"

Our eyes meet, and I know that you can see what I'm asking about. I can see your hesitation, your lack of faith in something, and your heavy sigh and sad eyes simply confirm it.

"It didn't work for me. I thought I could bring back my true love a long time ago, but it didn't . . .," you inhale deeply, restoring to your lungs all the air you just breathed out.

It's like you're breathing for both yourself and for this person you couldn't save. Like you've been carrying around this burden for a long time. And it doesn't seem like this person is me. Maybe I was mistaken about the connection.

"However," you steady yourself, not going in to more detail, although that raises more questions in my mind. "It did work for you. You brought Henry back from a sleeping curse with it. My sleeping curse, actually."

The only thing I glean from that sentence is the last part. "You cursed my son?"

"Accidentally. I tried cursing you."

"What the hell?"

You shrug, like it's no big deal that you tried something like that and it backfired and my son suffered the consequences. But I can see the guilt in your eyes and I realize that you feel remorse for it, that whatever happened between us is water under the bridge.

"You waltzed into my town, being dragged along by my son, and you shook everything up. You threatened to turn everything I had worked so hard to construct and keep perfect on its head, although in hindsight it wasn't really perfect. It was miserable. I was miserable and Henry was miserable. And you broke the initial curse, made time start ticking again and people started remembering who they were," your chest rises and falls with your steady breaths, but you still don't look into my eyes.

"And Henry was smitten with you, because you were the savior and he despised me because I was the Evil Queen and I was afraid I would lose my son to you. So I tried to get rid of you with a sleeping curse."

Hmm, simple solution to a volatile situation. Oh wait. It was a curse. My eyes bug out at you. "And Henry was cursed instead of me?"

"Yes. He's gallant and brave and foolhardy, like his grandparents, and like you. But he did it so that you would finally believe him about everything. And then you did."

"That's why we have Rule #17 - don't be a hero," I say with a half-grin, but you don't look up. "And my True Love's kiss brought him back?"

"It did. Because you finally believed."

"And now we share a son?"

"We did," you say quietly, looking at me finally with tears in your eyes. "We saved him together in Neverland, and we got him back without killing each other. And we could've been happy. Until the next curse hit and we were all going to be sent back to our world, back into our old lives, except for you and Henry. So I gave you both your happy ending."

I watch your face and it's the most incredible thing I've ever seen. These stories are outrageous and unbelievable and apparently Neverland is a real place, but I believe you somehow.

You're humble and I don't think you know it. Apparently you were an evil queen but I'm not sure you know that you're good. I can just sense it, the goodness. And you say you did something so selfless and wonderful for me and my son that now I don't even know what to do with myself. I do, however, know what I want now.

"I want to remember."

You scrunch your eyebrows, unsure if you've heard me correctly, so I repeat myself. "I want to remember. All of it."

"We'll have to figure out who your True Love is," you say, and your voice is low and you're staring at my lips with an expression I can't comprehend. For some reason, you're . . .magnetic I guess is the best way to describe it, and I'm drawn to you and my body has somehow gotten closer to yours and I'm watching you watch my mouth.

"Neal, maybe?" you say, breaking the spell, and alerting me again to our surroundings, dampening the roaring in my ears, allowing me to hear what's happening around us. There are biters coming.

I can hear them lumbering towards us from around the corner, so I grab your hand, ignoring your question and pull you out the door. We sneak out without been seen and go down the street, back towards my place. And as we jog through the streets, my ankle feeling good as new, footfalls muffled by all the garbage and abandoned paper littering the streets, I can't help but think about the way your pupils dilated even more while looking at my lips. I want to know what you were thinking just then, and I wish I could've been a mind reader, just for a moment, to see your thoughts.

I'm new to all this, or so I think, all this fairytale business and breaking of my Rule #35 or whichever it is, but it seems sort of perfect. You're the evil queen, I'm the savior. You're in desperate need of my help to save the world. Your world. And that's apparently my job. And we share a son. And this magic business, that's an interesting perk.

But before I know it, and it really takes about an hour, but we're at the building and I hope to whoever is listening or not that Henry is safe up there with John Paul Jones and that everything is okay. I turn around to face you, and you're slightly out of breath because you still don't know the first rule of this world. Cardio.

You really should've been training harder for this. But you don't seem to care about your heart rate, or maybe you do, because your chest is heaving again and you're staring at my lips again, like this is the last resort and I'm the only hope you have left. You look desperate, thirsty, hungry, like you're about ready to pass out.

"Look," I say, realizing something and letting it just come out of my mouth, no filter. It's the first time I want to know your name and I want it to be heavy on my tongue and crossing over my lips, like my mouth has gone too long without saying it. But that can't be, because I don't know you. But I feel like I do. And that's what I have to tell you before we go back inside, before Davy Jones tries to kiss me again with his scratchy face and his roving eyes.

"I've got all kinds of weird feelings inside me and my brain is tumbling all around with your stories. I don't know what to make of it all. It's too . . .outlandish, it's too bizarre," I'm rambling now and you're standing in front of me, watching me gesticulate in front of the stoop of the apartment complex. "It's just unbelievable and yes, seeing Neal's apartment was . . . and Henry's name on that camera was even more . . . but I just don't know what to make of it all . . ."

You cut me off by grabbing hold of my wrist as it flips through the air while I question my very existence in this world. A charge of electricity that is beginning to feel familiar rushes through my cells and I stop talking and look down at our touching skin. I'm buzzing with whatever this 'magic' is that you've been talking about and showing me and sharing with me. And when you step even closer, still holding my wrist and get into my personal space, I don't stop you. I don't want to stop you.

Up close, closer than you've been before, you smell intriguing and nice, like the woods and like a campfire, and like cinnamon and fresh herbs. And then all I can look at is your eyes, those specks of gold floating around amongst the brown, like a good whiskey in firelight, lighting up your entire iris. It's quite an effect, and it leaves me speechless. This is crazy. I don't even know you.

And yet, I want you to do this more than anything. More than I currently want air. You give me the slightest of shy smiles before pulling our bodies together. Our fronts press together and . . . god that feels good.

"What are you doing?" My newly weak voice trembles, and I don't even care. I actually don't care what it is that you're doing because it already feels incredible, but I thought I should ask anyway, just in case you decide at the last minute to kill me and eat me for dinner, to share me with the pirate and his hook. I don't even care at that moment if I get my memories back or not, all I care about is finding out what your lips will feel like on mine.

"I just want to try something," and you're right about that, because you move a stray hair behind my ears and I'd let you try anything you wanted after a move like that.

And you know something? There's bad timing, and there's really  _really_  bad timing. Like shitty timing. And that's the kind of timing that pokes its messy mop of hair out of our third floor window and looks down on us.

"Mom?"

_A/N - thanks everyone for reading. Let me know what you think about the past couple of chapters?_


	14. Zelena's Plan

_(A/N  I think I was missing a chapter there for a while? It was saved as a draft but I didn't publish it apparently. That was chapter 11. Anyway, they're all here now. Enjoy!)_

_**Mid-August 2012 – Enchanted Forest** _

**The cushions have been dusted using Rumple's magic, seeing as using up her own reserves in a place where it doesn't work as it should in the first place is a needless waste. Even though making the actual owner of the castle clean up after himself when he is sent down to the dungeons every night is not quite a fair arrangement, Zelena can't find it within herself to care.**

**But now, the room sits empty and quiet, and she motions for the two men to sit. They do, their postures upright and uncomfortable, but both their eyes remain glued to Zelena, unsure if she brought them to offer riches and royalty or to roast them and have them for supper.**

**"So, about the arrangement we spoke of outside," Zelena starts and both men perk up considerably. "You won't be kings of course, not yet."**

**She watches their faces fall but knows that what she says next will make them feel better. "But for now, how does Duke sound? Earl? Baron? These are excellent titles, and besides, I don't plan on staying here long."**

**"Where do you plan on going?"**

**Zelena doesn't like being questioned, but for these two, it will be important to give them the appropriate amount of information. "Regina told you about my predicament, I presume?"**

**They both nodded, having heard through fast spreading castle word that the Wicked Witch had lost her lover and sister due to Regina's curse, and wanted to find her again. "Perfect. So when I do find Glinda, we will return back to Oz and take our places there, in our home."**

**"So what do you want us to do in exchange for this power?"**

**Zelena leans forward in her chair, smiling widely at George. "It's simple, really. Give me information about my sister and the other leaders in that castle, and you will have all you need. It is I, after all, who holds the power of The Dark One. Unlike my sister, I'm willing to give you your medical laboratories and your castle back." She nods both at Whale and then George, respectively.**

**"How do you know about that?" George asks, aware now that Zelena has heard their earlier conversation with Snow and Charming.**

**"I have my ways of listening," Zelena says with a gleaming smile.**

**"You know," Whale says conspiratorially, glancing around at the walls and windows, eyes finally landing on the mirrors. "The Evil Queen was notorious for spying on people via mirrors. She's probably listening to us right now."**

**With that, Zelena darts her gaze around the room, eyes shifting from mirror to mirror until she catches a flash movement in one, a quick glimpse of dark eyes. Those dark, prying eyes of her sister.**

**"Tsk, tsk sister, that's not the way to do things, now is it?"**

**And with a wave of her hand, the mirrors in the room disappear in a puff of green smoke, reappearing up in the attic and covered with sheets so that even if her nosy sister can hear what's happening in the attic, she won't be able to see.**

**"So, dear boys, would you like some tea?"**

**After a nod and a flick of her hand, Chistery the monkey clatters around in the hall for a while before coming into the chamber with a tray at his shoulder, walking clumsily upright with wild eyes and sharp teeth, looking desperately at the two men as if he wants to drink their blood, but Zelena knows better, good Chistery doesn't really care for human flesh or blood, he simply wants to protect his mistress. She serves them tea from the tray and they sit with a saucer and cup in their hands, afraid to drink probably for fear of poisoning. So she pours herself a cup and settles their fears by taking a sip.**

**"Tell me. Tell me all about my sister's weaknesses. Tell me about everything that happened in this Land without Magic."**

**George and Whale share a look, it's mischievous at first, but then can really only be described as wicked. Zelena has come to appreciate things that are wicked. Wicked in the ways that help her, that is.**

**"Well, the queen, Regina, was in charge there as well, she was mayor of the town and everyone's minds were washed with new memories to take place of our old personalities and livelihoods, a strange punishment for the people really," Whale says with a frown. "The indoor plumbing and running water and modern technologies like penicillin were nice amenities, but it simply wasn't the same."**

**Zelena frowns in confusion at the words he's using, but ignores them, attributing this to their differences in worlds and cultures.**

**"But she decided at some point that she was lonely and wanted a son. So Rumpelstiltskin procured a boy for her."**

**"Right, but this wasn't just any orphan. This child was special." George's eyes gleam, and Zelena can see how much these two enjoy spilling the 'mayor's' secrets.**

**"And why was that?"**

**"Because of whom his birth parents are."**

**"All right then, who were they?" Zelena asks, playing into the story.**

**"Well, we need to go back twenty eight years for that." George says, and Whale nods knowingly.**

**And with that, the men dig up the convoluted story of Snow and Charming and Regina's curse and Rumpelstiltskin's prophecy and what that had to do with the baby, Emma. The story shifts to Emma and Neal, or Baelfire if you'd rather, and Emma giving up her son. And how that son falls into Regina's hands an entire country away is the hands of either destiny or Rumple's meticulous planning. And then Whale and George speak of another curse, Peter Pan's curse which sent everyone back to the Enchanted Forest, except for the one that didn't belong and his birth mother, the Savior.**

**"And so now, as far as anyone knows, Emma and Henry are living with new memories in the Land without Magic after Regina kept everyone from perishing by redirecting the curse here."**

**"Hmmph," Zelena scowls. "Luckily for her, this curse didn't have as lasting of effects in other worlds as her previous did."**

**"Different kind of curse, I'd say," Whale says confidently and Zelena wants to throttle him.**

**"What would you know about magic now, Doctor?"**

**Whale shrinks back at her tone, afraid of what she might do to him, oh and if he only knew what she was capable of.**

**"Regardless," Zelena says. "You two have been quite helpful and will be rewarded handsomely for your information."**

**The men nod and the greedy look in their eyes reminds her of another man, a man glittering and foreign, one who didn't belong in Oz. That look makes her want to see the life fade from their eyes. But she resists.**

**"Wonderful," she says and stands up, clapping her hands. "Chistery, accompany these two gentlemen to their new chambers. You understand, of course, that it will take me at least two days to rebuild your castle, George, and come up with a decent set of laboratories for you, Whale?"**

**"Yes, of course."**

**Both men bow and Zelena grins at their obedience. Her sister has trained her subjects well, even kings of other lands.**

**"Now, what to do with all of my new information," she muses aloud as the men and Chistery leave the Chamber. "Now that I know all about my sister's weakness."**

**The next day**

**The descent into the dungeons takes only a tik tok. It stinks down here, like rot and mildew and torture. And before Rumpelstiltskin can really wake up from his slumber, Zelena is standing behind the bars, gazing at him with her piercing, bright eyes. And those eyes watch Rumpelstiltskin sit up from his lumpy cot, wary probably that he hasn't been summoned to do any more sinister magic yet.**

**He stands up, approaches the bars slowly and meets her gaze evenly, looking only the tiniest bit apprehensive. It must be difficult to have to sleep in one's own dungeons. But on the bright side, Zelena settles with herself, she has provided him with adequate food and water; although, being immortal, he probably doesn't need it.**

**"So, dad," Zelena draws out the word sarcastically, as both of them are aware that he's been nothing of the sort to her over the years. "I've just discovered some new information."**

**He raises an eyebrow, intrigued, not wanting to let her know that he's interested in sharing secrets. "Wouldn't you like to know what I learned today?"**

**"If it's about your half-sister," he says in his high pitched, nasal voice. "I probably already know it."**

**"Ah yes, but would you have shared that information with me, your other student?"**

**"I would hardly call you a student."**

**"Yes, well, semantics," she goes on smoothly, unaffected by his snub. "Anyway, I found all about how you are connected to the boy, Henry and the woman named Emma and Regina and Snow and Charming and also Neal, your son. Or Baelfire, whichever. It's such a tangled web," Zelena says with a maniacal grin. "I had no idea your family tree was quite so . . .convoluted."**

**"If you only knew," Rumpelstiltskin says under his breath. Zelena catches it, but says nothing. Her goal for today's visit is not to have a word-sparring match with the Dark One.**

**"So, here's my idea. You'll be helping me with this, of course. I've told you all about Glinda and how yours and Regina's curse took her away from me. And that I would also like just a little bit of vengeance for being cheated out of a better childhood, although, after hearing about everything Baelfire and Emma and even Regina, to an extent, had to go through as they grew up, I'm debating an amendment to that part of the plan."**

**"How kind of you, dearie," Rumple says with a slight scowl and a gleam in his eye.**

**"Anyway, what I would like to happen is for you, with your vast knowledge of the realms after all you've traveled, for you to tell me exactly where you think my Glinda has ended up. Secondly, when you tell me this information, you are going to help me find her and bring her back to Oz."**

**"And you can't do this by yourself, because . . .?**

**"Well, Dad, I thought that was obvious." She gestures down at herself and at the dagger held now in her hand. "In other realms, it seems, one's magic tends not to work as well as their original land."**

**"Ah yes," Rumple says with a brief closing of his eyes. "How could I forget. But you must keep in mind, that as a magical being myself, my own magic would and does behave differently in other worlds as well."**

**"But the combination of our magic, that would be stronger, wouldn't it?"**

**"It might, but do you want to take the chance of getting stuck in a world without magic?"**

**"Right now, Rumpelstiltskin, I'm willing to take any chance. So, you will help me travel to whichever land you think Glinda might have been whisked away to and then we'll be done with it. Oh, and also, just as a backup, I plan on sending other delegations to explore some of our other options."**

**"Other delegations?"**

**"Why, yes. You see, I have the ability to travel with you to another realm, or I could send someone else and stay here and search for her in the Enchanted Forest. It is an enormous land, after all. And I could use your help to do that, especially without full power. And meanwhile, I think your son would make a good candidate to send to the Land without Magic, seeing as how he wants so badly to return there in the first place."**

**"My, you have done your research, haven't you?"**

**"Oh yes," Zelena nods.**

**"And how, may I ask, do you plan on getting my son, who has no inherent magical abilities, into another world without the help of an open portal. And how will he return from that trip?"**

**"Well, you see, I have made a few friends here in the Enchanted Forest during the time in which you people were away. Giants, to be exact."**

**"Giants," Rumple says skeptically. "They are supposed to be extinct."**

**"Yes, well, Giants in this part of the world are extinct, but in the islands of the east, there are many of them still. The Cyclops, you've heard of them, I'm sure?"**

**"I certainly have. But that is clear across the world. You traveled that far?"**

**"Dearest Dad, I would go to the farthest ends of every world in existence for my Glinda. You should know this about love. Or have you even known what's it's like to truly love someone who loves you back?"**

**"Don't push, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin warns but he is met only with a grin. "And these giants had magical beans?"**

**"Indeed they did. I now have two in my possession."**

**"But giants, especially Cyclops are not friendly creatures. They would have smashed you."**

**"After a little magical coercion of course, it was no problem."**

**"It's impossible. This curse, the way Regina deflected it from Pan's curse should have been a reset, no more portals, no more beans."**

**"Don't be ridiculous, Rumpelstiltskin. There's always another way. One simply has to be diligent enough to find it."**

**"So Bae will be traveling by himself?"**

**"Of course not," Zelena says with a brisk shake of her head. "My Chistery will accompany him. In human form, of course. And you, on the other hand, will stay with me."**

**"You said we might travel the realms, as well."**

**"Indeed we might."**

**"But you must know, the Hat is no longer available."**

**"I'm aware. No matter," Zelena says with a dismissive wave. "I have the silver slippers."**

**"You what?"**

**"Oh yes, and I'm well aware now why you wanted them back so badly all those years ago. They have the ability to travel the worlds. How did you think I got here in the first place?"**

**"Of course," Rumple says, eyes glimmering with new wonder at his daughter. "I should have known."**

**"Right, well, now I am unable to operate them on my own in this world, and that is what I need you for."**

**"Of course."**

**"Now, dearest Dad, do tell me about your knowledge of the worlds."**

**"I don't believe I will."**

**"Oh really?" Zelena asks, drawing forth the dagger again and swiping it through the air. The Dark One crumbles to his knees, face collapsing in pain as the magic forces him to do Zelena's bidding.**

**"From what I understand," he grits out, still in pain. "Would you cease that for a moment, so that I could actually speak."**

**"Of course," Zelena says, lowering the dagger and the Dark One relaxes, takes a long breath and then evens his gaze once more at his daughter. "Please continue."**

**"From what I understand of the void between the worlds, having traveled them many times with the Hatter, the worlds are stacked up against each other, like a partially spread out deck of cards, or a row of houses all alike."**

**"And the portals? How do they know where to take a person?"**

**"I have a feeling you know this already, Zelena," Rumple says, biting the inside of his cheek. "You did send the girl Dorothy away, didn't you? And you managed to make it here with no problems."**

**"Yes, I took a guess, hypothesizing that it would take a magical person to direct where one would end up inside a portal, like the Mad Hatter, or you, or even me. So, someone like Dorothy would have no control over where she ended up, and I had to send her back where she belonged. Without the shoes, of course."**

**"Right. So if a person without magical properties was to jump inside a portal with no direction, they would end up where?"**

**Zelena shrugs, imagining the row of worlds stacked neatly on top of one another, and the direction the cyclone that ripped through her land went. "From west to east it seems, that a person would end up in the next world over."**

**"That is also what I believe."**

**"So what is the order of the worlds?"**

**"Well, based on my travels," he starts and then something startles him. A cough from the next cell over. Zelena rolls her eyes. Of all the timing.**

**Rumpelstiltskin's head jerks to the side, and a light that was not there before shines on the next cell. Someone he hadn't noticed before, it seems, and now that the rest of the cells are illuminated, a man is visible chained up against the wall, arms extended over his head, gag in his mouth.**

**And all the noise he can manage to make is a coughing, wheezing whimper. The look on Rumpelstiltskin's face when he finally recognizes the waking man is priceless. And Zelena knows all about their torrential relationship from Rumple's visits all those years ago. Stories of a pirate and a cheating wife and murder and blackmail are all too vivid in her mind, and she watches with glee as The Dark One approaches the bars on the other side, staring in at the man.**

**"Hook," he says in a low voice, not menacing, necessarily, but certainly unkind. "How the hell did you get down here?"**

**But of course with the gag, it's impossible for the pirate to answer, so Zelena takes care of that for him.**

**"Oh him. My dearest servants found him in the forest following Baelfire and Belle out of Regina's castle. Seems after insistent questioning and a little help from my friend the whip, that he simply wanted to help find 'Emma' was it? And the boy. And his ship."**

**Zelena pauses, moving along to the front of Hook's cell as she watches both men intently. "Seems someone more than just your son is pining for this young woman's heart. And how strange, two mothers, is it? And a father? And now another man wants in on the happy little family?"**

**Rumple shakes his head at Hook.**

**"The family that this bastard ripped away from me, you mean!" Rumple says under his breath, and this time, Zelena doesn't let it go.**

**"Yes, of course. The pirate for whom your wife left you. How quaint."**

**The Dark One turns back to Zelena, question in his eyes. "What is the point of this? Why bring him here, why put us together?"**

**"Oh, I don't know," Zelena looks up and then flashes a grin at them both. "I've just been in the family reunion spirit lately."**

**Silence meets her, and the air of two men who don't understand what she's up to is all around her. And for the best.**

**"Now, Dad. Time to summon another of my siblings. What do you need to call Baelfire here to you?"**

**Silence again, but a quick slash of the dagger and a grimace of pain from the Dark One results in a gritty response. "A dove."**

**"Wonderful. I'll need him by tomorrow morning. You'll have your dove first thing."**

**And with that, Zelena makes her way back upstairs to rest.**

**"So what did the message say?" Zelena asks, pacing back and forth across Rumpelstiltskin's plush rugs, head swiveling to keep an eye on the horizon out the side window, the view which will show the exact moment when Baelfire arrives near the castle. Rumple sits in his chair, feet propped up on the nearest stool.**

**He seems to be taking advantage of his time out of the dungeons, hair disheveled, clothes in disarray. Although he would be just fine staying in one of the castle's many rooms, the simple need to punish him for contributing to the hardships in her life is simply too great to resist.**

**"I assumed that you wanted him to come alone, so I told him to come alone. And that there is a way to get to Emma and Henry. I signed it 'Papa'. Is that satisfactory?"**

**"Of course it is."**

**And soon enough a lone horse and rider appears out of the Forest and into the clearing. Seeing as Zelena and Rumple have minimal servants and guards at this castle, aside from Whale and George and the flying monkeys, there is no one to stop Neal as he crosses the drawbridge and into the Lower Bailey.**

**Zelena sends Chistery out to lead him inside the keep and on into the Great Hall where she and Rumple await.**

**"Bae," Rumple cries as he catches sight of his son, alive and well for the first time since before Pan's curse. Zelena allows father and son to reunite, holding back the bile in her throat at how much Baelfire is favored in his father's eyes, even if he is a powerless little twit.**

**"Why did you bring me here?" The question is aimed mostly at Zelena, and she smiles, gesturing widely at any of the couches or armchairs.**

**"Sit, stay a while, have some wine," Zelena says, and although Baelfire gives her a skeptical glance, he sits near his father and stares at her pointedly, obviously uncomfortable with the situation.**

**"I've got a proposition for you, Baelfire. I understand that you have an interest in seeing your son again, as well as this Emma that everyone speaks so highly of."**

**His face brightens, and the chair almost bends forward when he scoots to the edge of it. "You've got a way to send me back?"**

**"I do, indeed," Zelena says, giddy now that it's she who is making all the deals while Rumple sits by and observes. "But there is a condition, of course."**

**"What's that?"**

**"One, you'll need to take my Chistery as a companion, he's magical enough to get you to the right place and will keep you in line. And two, I want you to look for Glinda."**

**"And you're hoping your primate is competent enough not to screw up the travel through the natural order of the worlds?" Rumple asks, skeptical as ever, but Zelena only rewards him with an eye roll.**

**"You really think she's there?"**

**"She might be," Zelena says, and at Baelfire's skeptical expression, the one that looks so like his father's, she goes on. "Even if she's not there, I still want you to check. Just in case. I want to be sure."**

**"Of course," Baelfire says quickly, not wanting to say anything to disrupt this once-in-a-lifetime deal.**

**"Wonderful. Now, I have two beans for you to use. One for the journey there, and one for the journey back. Do you think you can manage that?"**

**"Of course," he says. "I've used magic beans before."**

**And at the apologetic and sorrowful look that passes between father and son, Zelena again has to push down her distaste.**

**"Yes, you certainly have. Now, here's a little extra incentive," she says, taking hold of a nearby goblet and enjoying a slow sip of wine. Baelfire again, hangs on her words. "If you do manage to return my Glinda to me, the reward will be great."**

**Both men's eyes are fixed on her, and she sets the goblet back down. "Upon Glinda's return to me, I am prepared to relinquish power over the Dark One as soon as Glinda and I are safely back in Oz. You, Rumple, may have your freedom as soon as I have her."**

* * *

**And soon it's only Zelena and Rumple again in the Great Hall, both watching at the window from a distance the stream on the far side of the clearing.**

**As far as it is away, they can each see the faint outlines of both Baelfire and Chistery, in his more subtle, human form approaching the stream. But just as they get close, another form sprints across the clearing, running desperately to catch up with the other two. And based on his flapping black coat, it certainly looks like Captain Hook.**

**"What does that imbecile think he's doing?" Rumpelstiltskin asks, leaning closer to the window to get a better look, but Zelena only shrugs.**

**"I may have accidentally left our dear Captain's cell unlocked."**

**Rumple turns to her, outrage on his face. "What? Why would you do that? He's going to make it into the portal."**

**And indeed, Hook had run fast enough to reach the stream in time to make into the portal.**

**"Not if you're there to stop him. Oh, and I've forgotten," Zelena says with a mischievous smile. She points out to the left of Hook, where several of her bewitched undead are stumbling between the trees. "I would like for you to toss a few of those undead into the portal."**

**"What?" Rumple's surprise and utter outrage is almost explosive, and Zelena can hardly contain herself, thoroughly pleased with the plan she's come up with.**

**"Go on, stop him. Do as I say," Zelena says, waving the dagger from within her cloak and Rumple promptly disappears, but not without his most distasteful and hateful look thrown Zelena's way.**

**Zelena watches the scene play out from her uppermost window in Rumple's castle, Baelfire tossing the bean into the stream and standing back as a blue swirling portal opens its gaping mouth, beckoning all who dare to enter and discover forgotten worlds.**

**He and Chistery leap inside, none the wiser that Captain Hook is nearing them, running full-tilt towards the portal and getting quite close to diving headlong inside.**

**Rumple, however, has the ability to appear and disappear at the snap of his glittery fingers, and easily beats Hook to the entrance. One more snap of his fingers and Hook is suspended almost comically in midair, mouth open and eyes wide in surprise at being caught. With a wave, he floats none too softly back into contact with the ground, his arms now wrapped solidly with ropes.**

**And just as the portal's mouth begins to close its swirling yawn, another wave of the Dark One's hand sends three nearby undead people flipping head over heels into the entrance.**

**Zelena smiles tightly at the success of her plan. The first phase is complete.**

**But Rumple, by the time he returns Hook to his cell and appears in the Great Hall again, is none too happy about the course of events.**

**"Why would you have me do something like that?"**

**His voice rips through the room, echoing and rattling the windows. Zelena moves from her spot in front of the window and takes her seat again in an armchair,**

**"Call it a failsafe, a backup plan if you will."**

**"A backup plan! Are you mad? Do you have any idea what happens to magical beings in other worlds?"**

**"Do I?" Zelena laughs, holding a hand up to her chest. "Of course I do. They behave differently, don't they? You taught me well after all, Rumple."**

**"And the pirate. Why not have him go through as well? That wasn't part of your backup plan?"**

**"I needed a knowledgeable messenger, that's all. But I won't need him yet. I did come across a certain ship that I now have in my possession. One he might be interested to have returned to him."**

**"The Jolly Roger?"**

**"That's the one. Think he'll miss it? But no, we won't need him for some time now. We'll just have to wait for the right time."**

**"The right time?"**

**"That's right. It won't be long before that undead person has spread his sickness to people of that land, because after all, magic behaves differently there, doesn't it? And meanwhile, you and I will scour this land for my Glinda."**

**The look of outrage on his face is more than enough to let Zelena sleep well at night.**


	15. I remember

**Warning : This chapter contains adult sexy-times situations. Not suitable for children.**

**April 3** **2013- Land without Magic**

I hate to say we spring apart when the kid calls out for me outside the apartment, but we really do. He had to have seen us, pressed up against each other and milliseconds away from locking lips, but when he comes down to meet us in the courtyard, he doesn't say anything about it.

The expression on his face certainly does, however, and I know that he's confused more than anything. We'll have to have a conversation about it later. Great. The birds and the bees talk already. Zombies, I can handle. Crazy pirates and magical women in leather, I can handle. But this, I don't think I'm ready for this.

When we get inside, I see that the pirate has taken the kid under his wing, and whether that's a good thing or not, I'm not entirely sure. But they're standing by the grill, cooking dinner together, so that's one thing. Two nights in a row, I haven't had to cook. How wonderful for me. This was a stressful day, and there's nothing more I want than a hot bath and some candles. Maybe a nice glass of wine. I have none of those things, so I settle for sitting across the table from you and looking at the sun set through the buildings.

Your eyes look incredible in this light. I don't know if you know that, but the light reflecting in them is really nice. I tell you that, quietly of course, but I think the kid hears it anyway from ten feet away, ears like sonar, that one. But you smile and thank me, clamming up a bit when I compliment you. It's like our being so close to each other a few minutes before has taken a bit out of you, drained you emotionally.

And then it hits me, that storybook! That damned storybook from last night! I'd forgotten all about it after being slightly intoxicated last night and the hustle and bustle of getting ready for our adventure this morning, the entire thing had slipped my mind. The kid was looking at it this morning, but I was so concerned with you healing my ankle, I didn't think about it. But anyway, what I want to know is, how the hell did that storybook get in my apartment, perfectly hidden from view so that I wouldn't find it, but my kid would.

And I'm thinking that you had something to do with it.

"So, that book, Hatchet . . is that the only book you got for my kid in the book store?" I ask surreptitiously, and your eyes flick to me. They'd been staring over my head at the kid, watching his every movement. You were worried about him today too, I know that. You raise an eyebrow at me.

"What do you mean?"

"The book with all the stories in it. The fairytales that mysteriously ended up in my apartment yesterday."

Silence is all that reaches across the table to me for a moment before you speak again. "I suppose I might have accidentally left something on the couch when I left your apartment night before last."

"Accidentally or purposely?"

But I already know the answer because images of the book and all that it contained are flying back through my mind, confusing me again with their similarities to my dreams. How can that be? Coincidence?

"It's hard to say," you murmur, your eyes going back to the kid. "The rum last night did strange things to me."

"Me too, but those were two different nights," I say, still gazing at you suspiciously. "Why didn't you just give the book to me? Let me read it first?"

You look back at me, and your expression tells me that there's so much that I'm missing. Like I didn't already know that. "Henry needs to believe too. He needs to remember."

"Needs to?"

I'm still suspicious, because what we have here isn't so bad, now that I'm farther away from you and the desire to remember isn't surging like a river through me. And going off to some far away land that I don't even remember or know hardly anything about just at the chance that I could be reunited with my so-called family and a past that I'm not sure even happened is still terrifying.

"He would want to remember," you say quietly, so that the kid can't hear. He's focused now anyway on grilling something that smells like more pigeon with the pirate and probably isn't listening. But then again, that kid could put a damned sponge to shame.

"Maybe," I say, not sure if I believe that or not, although, you're right. He is the adventurous, heroic type. But what can I do? I have to protect him. And you leaving suspicious and probably mystical artifacts lying around my apartment is not helping this situation. But you don't say anything more about it, closing your mouth up tight when the kid and the pirate come over with arms full of plates and bowls and serve us dinner.

It's not terrible, more of that strange stew and a few pieces of freshly grilled pigeon along with something that looks like it might be hard tack biscuits. The pirate apparently swears by them, but I'm not so sure. They taste a bit like cement and salt, with just a hint of bread. I have so many questions about Neal and where he is and if he's alive and how much he knows about my son. You've already answered some of them, rather evasively I might add, but the kid is here and the expression on your face tells me that now is not the time to ask anything else. I figure I can try again later when the kid goes to bed.

And eventually he does, after he's yawned about a thousand times and I've told him to go to bed about a hundred times. Eventually he does, especially when you suggest to him that he could read a little before bed, that it always puts you right to sleep. His face lights up at that and his eyes gleam with this apparent hidden secret that the two of you have, except it's not hidden at all and it's about fairytales and the like.

And I don't like it. But he goes upstairs and I'm left with the pirate and you. And when I bring up Neal, the pirate gets visibly upset, a little angry it looks like, and it makes me think there must have been some sort of tension between the two of them, if they were both in this other world at the same time. Or in Storybrooke at the same time, the place of my dreams.

"Please tell me what happened to him," I ask, trying to keep the pleading out of my voice, but it's difficult. Your eyes find mine and there are hints of a little bit of fear in your eyes.

"It's like I said before," you say, your voice dull. "He went through the portal first, managed to get a magic bean from Zelena, which I thought was suspicious enough, and apparently she told him that in exchange for getting to see you two, he could have the bean."

Zelena the witch who cursed my parents, yes, got it, I think. See, there's nothing at all wrong with my memory. You continue, unaware of my internal dialog. But first, I need to ask something, something that was too much information before but is now important to fit the story together.

"Hang on, what was the reason this Zelena person wanted her revenge on you and my . . . Snow White?"

Your mouth closes once and your eyes dart down momentarily. "When I first cast the curse that sent everyone to Storybrooke, there was a domino effect on the other worlds that affected Oz, where Zelena was from. It took her lover, Glinda away and so naturally, she came to find me to get her revenge. She wants help getting Glinda back from wherever she ended up."

"Glinda the good witch. This is ridiculous," I roll my eyes. "And are you going to help her?"

"Of course not," you say indignantly. "Even if she is my . . ."

You pause, glance up at me and then shake your head. I guess that's too much information too.

"Anyway, if Neal came back with Glinda, Rumple could go free. I didn't know any of this until Hook told me. We all thought Neal had deserted us. Several months passed and then we had the confrontation with Zelena where she put your parents under a sleeping curse and told me I had to find a way to break it in ten days, otherwise they'd die. And I thought there were no more beans, no more portals."

"Until you and the pirate managed to get through," I pause, looking back and forth between the two of you. I know you've been trying not to overload me with information about all of this, but some of it, I'd really like to know. I'm still confused as to how that happened, so I intentionally made my question leading.

"Right, well, that's the whole reason, well partly the reason, that I came back for Henry and you. And Hook as well," you glance over at the pirate as sort of an afterthought, and he dips his head sarcastically at you. "When Neal went through the portal, some of the undead from our world were sent through to this world with him."

"Whoa, whoa whoa." I say, because that just hit me like a ton of bricks. "Undead from your world?"

"Yes, that's where these all came from."

"But they've been around almost a year. The news people, when there was still TV, said that it all originated farther northeast somewhere."

"Yes," the pirate agrees, looking at you. "That would be Maine, wouldn't it?"

"Holy shit," I say, rubbing my head with both my hands. "But wait," I pause because this whole time you've been promising me that it's so much better there than it is here. "If the undead came from your world, why would we want to go there, where there are no guns and no modern amenities? We're just trading one shitty world for another?"

"It's not like that," you shake your head. "The undead there are different. Magic behaves differently in both worlds, it behave differently for all magical beings in all the realms, but when those undead came through with Neal, they seem to have evolved, or modified somehow into what they are now. Flesh-eating monsters."

"Comforting," I say. "Very comforting."

We go to bed later, you and the pirate to your downstairs office, and me upstairs to the apartment. You're still antsy, wanting to leave and get a move on to this town in Maine because the time in your sand dial is running short. I can see that you're irritated and frustrated with me, but what can I do?

And later, I have a feeling that you'll be in the living room again when I wake from yet another dream. They're getting more and more vivid, more and more people are turning corners away from me and I can see glimpses of the sides of their faces, remnants of people who I used to know, people I recognized in the storybook, but from where I'm not sure. Everything is getting more vivid now, the dreams, the zombies, my electrical magnetism towards you.

The locked door in town hall opens again and I step inside, but I can't see anything. It's too damn dark.

I wake up, breathless and sweaty, yet again. Taking my time getting a glass of water from my bucket, I step out of my room, fully expecting to see your darkened figure sitting on the couch again. But you're not there. Weird. I could've sworn I could feel your presence. I still can feel your presence.

The buzzing that becomes even more pronounced when we touch is vibrating gently through me, and it's difficult to shake it off because I'm growing to like it. I shake my head. No, no, that won't do. You and the pirate are going to leave and getting attached to you because you make me feel all bumbly and waspy inside won't do at all. My body turns naturally towards the kid's room, knowing already that I want to check on him before I go back to sleep, but I collide suddenly with a solid form.

"Oof!" I gasp, and the form stumbles forward slightly, my hand squeezes the pistol, ready to pull it out if I need to. "What the hell?"

The figure turns and I can see now in the moonlight that it's you. That you've been looking at my kid for who knows how long, and even while I stood here looking around for you, you were staring at him.

"He's sleeping?"

You look at me and nod, your eyes darkened and reflecting the dim light. "Before all this," you say quietly, eyes flicking back to the kid's sleeping form. "Before this . . . outbreak, was he happy?"

I pause for a moment because I thought we'd already talked about his, but I can see that you need some sort of reassurance. "He was happy, yes."

"Did he have friends?"

The question is so innocent, so fearful, so motherly. And it makes me wonder, if you're telling the truth about all of this, whether his childhood was lonely, if he was unhappy before.

"He does," I say with a small smile and then clear my throat. "He did. He had lots of friends."

As of now, I have no idea what happened to all of his friends. There's no telling now where they might be or if they're even alive.

I have so many questions, but one is dancing on the tip of my tongue, it's the one I've been wanting to ask ever since we stepped back into the safety of the courtyard.

"What were you going to try earlier?"

You jump, startled at my soft voice in the silence, but recover quickly, turning from his room towards me in the dim light. I hear you take a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and let it out.

You step towards me, and it's dark but I'm certain your eyes are on my mouth again. I can feel your breath, bathing my lips, and the tingle inside my skin is driving me nuts.

"May I?" you ask, and I was also right about something, about you being prim and proper, making sure I'm okay with this. Unlike that asswipe of a ship's captain downstairs, who just swooped in and planted one on me. Not the way to woo Emma Swan. Or Boston, I mean. Yes, Boston is the name I'm going with.

You're jumbling everything up in my brain and all I can focus on now is your lips, your red lips and how soft they must feel. How good the inside of your mouth is going to feel.

I nod slightly, my eyes blazing emerald green fire at our proximity. But before you can lean any farther in, my eyebrows crinkle and deep brown, almost drunk-looking orbs raise from my lips back up into my eyes. I know it's not the time to talk anymore, but before this happens, I feel like I need to say the thought that managed to float to the forefront of my foggy mind.

"It's hard for me to understand... but I can't help feeling that . . . It's you. That you're the one."

You raise an eyebrow, mouth quirking up almost mischievously. "Care to find out?"

But there's something else there, behind the smile and the confidence. Is it fear? It's too late to tell now though, because the slightest of nods is all you need, closing the distance.

Our lips touch for the first time, or so you say, but that can't possibly be true. For me, it feels like coming home. Like I'm kissing you for the millionth time. And for the first time.

Like I've found the only pair of lips I'll ever need to taste again. We move closer together and some sort of strange whooshing noise passes over us, a gust of wind ruffles our hair and I don't care. My hand finds its way to the back of your neck to pull you closer, to taste more, and at this moment, you're all I really need, more than air, or food, or water, or even survival from these fucking zombies.

Regina. Your name is Regina. I just need you and your lips on mine. And maybe your hands on more of my body.

And Henry.

Henry.

God, Henry doesn't know who you are and you're his mother.

I gasp, pulling away from you in one swift movement and you're left, almost fish-like in my wake. Your eyes narrow and question me. I'm sure you're thinking, what the hell, Emma? But it's not the time for kissing right now, although, that was wonderful and without a doubt, hands down, the best kiss I've had in my life, charged with something strange and magical and good god that was the kiss. The kiss to break this spell. To bring me back.

Now's the time for looking into your eyes and telling you that I remember. I remember everything. Holy shit. You two were telling the truth. Holy shit.

"You remember," you say, meeting my wondrous gaze as I stare, dumbfounded at you. It's really you. You're really here and I've got all these memories back in my head, back where they belong, of you and me fighting, physically and verbally, bickering over who was an unfit mother and who should have Henry.

And sharing a drink of cider at your house, of saving you from a fire, of helping you open a portal to send the wraith through with our magic, of finding you in the mine and helping you save the town with our magic, of going on an adventure to Neverland to save our son, and then finally, finally, of you sacrificing for me, for Henry especially, for our son.

So that we could both have happy endings, so that Henry could have his best chance. And just like that, you're the better mother. You always have been, because you're thoughtful and responsible and mature. And you took care of Henry when I couldn't.

When I wouldn't.

And now you're here, patiently standing in front of me, watching all this play out on my face.

And Henry doesn't know who you are.

"What about Henry?" I say, my eyes following the wood flooring into his room and onto his bed, where his still form is sleeping. "Your son."

"Our son," you say quietly and your eyes are glinting with love for him. But is it just for him?

"You haven't . . . Have you always wanted this?" I ask, because it didn't used to be like this. It used to be uneasy and forced between us. It got better over time, sure, but this? Love?

"You grew on me," you say simply, and it makes me smile. But there's something else there. That hint of something that I saw just before we kissed, that glimpse of something that looked like fear, that tiny emotion you buried back down just as soon as it came through.

"What's wrong?" My hand goes to your arm, like it's the most natural thing in the world for me to do, because it feels that way. You blink slowly, dip your head for a moment and then tilt your head up again, looking steadily into my eyes.

"This is . . ." You start, taking your time, licking your lips and I watch them carefully, those lips, because they were magnificent. "This is not easy for me."

"Understandable," I nod, because you've been through some shit, I know that. And it must have been hard to swallow all of it, put on a brave face and act like kissing me in the first place was no big deal.

"If you really are my . . . my True Love," you say it thickly, like it's not easy to say, like it's painful. "I'm worried about that."

"Why?"

"Because anytime I love something, it seems to crumble in my hands. It wilts, dies."

My eyes widen. "You think I'm going to die?"

You shrug, a gesture out of character for you, reminding me of how you were in Neverland. Frustrated, heroic, fed up with all of the rest of us, and frankly hopeless sometimes.

"Regina," I say, and I was right about how your name would sound across my lips. I step into your space and take your hand in mine. "I'm going to die eventually, yes. But not anytime soon." I smile, and you reward me with a tilting up on one side of your mouth.

"And I haven't survived almost a year of these fuckers," I gesture out the window at the world in shambles outside. "To just die. To just. . . leave Henry. And you."

You smile at me then, squeeze my hands.

"I just don't want anything to happen to you," you say quietly and it breaks me a little inside, that you care about me like this, when I had no idea, when I've been here and you've been over there and you must've been constantly thinking of Henry, and maybe me, sometimes, I guess. And I couldn't even remember you. And neither could Henry.

"Listen," I say, and I want nothing more than to comfort you. But more than that, I want you. Just you. "I'm here. I'm alive. It's going to be okay."

"What are we going to do about Henry?"

"I don't know," I say, and my hand can't seem to stay away from you. The backs of my fingers run gently along your face. You close your eyes at the touch, and I know you can feel the tingle of our skin, just like I can.

"Tomorrow," you say. And I nod, because it's late, and he needs to sleep. And I need to be closer to you. "Right now, take me to bed."

To bed. Christ, you want me, more than just curse-breaking kisses and hesitant touches, you want me in bed. I think I might pass out, but instead of that, I lean in, turning my hand around, sliding it around your neck and pull you towards me. Our bodies press together, and I watch your lips until I can't see them anymore, until all I can do is feel them. And they do feel incredible.

Your hands are exploring, and mine are desperately trying to pull you closer, and I want more. I want all of you. But we're still standing in front of the kid's room and it's not where I want to be. It's not where you want to be either, because you pull back, eyes on my room next door.

A fleeting thought floats through my mind that this is too fast, that this is too much at once, but it floats out just as easily as you take my hand, shut Henry's door and then my door behind you, pulling me slowly to the bed.

Well hell, the world is ending. Might as well do some living while we still can.

That should be a new rule.

The breeze through the window cools my overheated skin, but it's not the reason for the chill bumps up and down my spine when you lean in to me again, your long shirt scratchy against my bare skin. God, and if this is living, feeling your lips on my neck and your hands around my ribs and up my back, I want to be immortal. I want to feel this forever, because it's never been like this.

You move your lips to my ear, and god Regina, your voice is like sex, like pure dripping sex and I shiver despite the sweat and our body heat. "Is this okay?"

And how is that, that asking for consent, asking if I'm okay with this, how is that the sexiest thing I've ever heard? I don't have a clue, but it turns me on and I nod, pulling your face back to mine so that I can taste your lips again.

I fall back onto the bed and you follow, reaching up and pulling off your shirt in one fluid motion, the bra follows and I want so badly to see you, to memorize every single inch of your body with not only my eyes but my palms and my lips and my tongue. I want you to be written into my DNA, to never leave me, to never consider what it would be like to touch another like this.

The candle by my bed catches my eye. A vague lesson in Neverland comes to mind, so I reach over to it, flick my wrist and there's the flame. Easy. Our skin is touching and the magic conducted easily through me. I look back up to you and now that I can really see your face and your naked flesh and your shining eyes, I see that you're smiling a watery smile.

"What?" I say gently, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear while my other hand runs along your side, tracing your ribs with my fingertips.

"You remembered what I taught you."

"Of course I remembered that," I say with a smile. "I'd remember anything you teach me."

You pause, holding yourself up over me, the leather of your pants pressing a sharp contrast to the soft cotton of my sleeping shorts. My eyes rove down your half-naked body, and god you're beautiful. After a moment though, I feel you watching me, so I look up and your expression is apprehensive.

"Have you ever done this before? With a woman, I mean?"

I shake my head. The short list of guys I've been with runs through my head. Not a single one of them had breasts like this, eyes like yours, your perfect hair, your lips, god. No wonder it never worked out with any of them. If you were my True Love the entire time, then no fucking wonder. Love though, that's something I don't think I'm ready to think about. And True Love? Wow. Definitely not ready for that.

"Have you?"

You shrug, your eyes glinting mischievously.

"I was a queen. I used sex to get what I wanted." You say it off-handedly, like it's no big deal. But now I'm picturing you with all sorts of lords and ladies in all kinds of royally inappropriate places and it confuses the hell out of me. Jealousy and arousal at the same time.

"Well, at least one of us knows what the hell we're doing."

"Emma," you say huskily, leaning closer to me until your bare breasts press against the thin material of my tank top. I can feel your hardened nipples through it and god that feels good. "I have a feeling you're going to be a complete natural."

You kiss me, hard, and I pull back after you take my breath away, panting.

"Why haven't we done this before?"

But you don't answer. Instead, you reach down to the hem of my shirt and pull it up, lifting my upper half in the process and freeing me to the cool night air and your impatient gaze. I lunge forward, press our lips together again and reach down to your pants, fumbling with the unnecessarily complicated drawstring.

My hands tremble, dropping the strings twice in a row when your fingers wrap around mine. I look up into your eyes, the glinting browns shining sweetly at me.

"Are you okay?" you ask, your voice solid, grounding me.

"I'm sorry," I admit. "I'm just . . . nervous, I guess. I don't want to mess this up."

"You won't," you say and that makes me feel better.

You guide my fingers back to the strings. With your confidence, finally, I get it undone and peel the skin tight material off your legs. You help me, leaning forward and walking yourself up my body and lifting so that I can pull them off your calves and ankles.

And when they're gone, I realize too late my precarious location now at the bottom of your torso. But you take the lead, resting your hands on my shoulders, your knees in the sheets on either side of my trembling thighs and press your chest into my mouth. The skin there tastes as good as it looks and I get my first mouthful of another woman's breast, sucking your nipple into my mouth and laving the tip with my tongue.

"Fuck!" You hiss above me, weaving your hands into my hair and squeezing. That expletive, coming from your prim and proper mouth, sets me on fire. It hurts, but I wouldn't release what I have in my mouth for all the gold in the world. But I do release it eventually because your other breast looks neglected and you're making delicious noises above me that spur me onward.

And after another few moments of teasing and pulling and gently biting your nipples, you wrench my hair back, staring down at me with lust-filled eyes and pull my lips up to meet yours again, moaning into my mouth. My hands are around your waist, feeling your back muscles and hips, but I can feel your lower half pressing against me, straining for relief the same as my lower half has been subtlety grinding against the sheets, searching for some friction for the last five minutes.

I summon my courage and feel lower with my hands while you dominate my mouth, exploring me thoroughly with your tongue. Your ass is as breathtaking as the rest of you, and feeling emboldened by the noises you're making, I explore more of you, feeling in between your legs and gasping into your mouth at the wetness I encounter there.

Holy gods you're soaked. And I know I am too because the damned shorts have been rubbing me raw this entire time. You release my mouth with a growl and push me backwards. The way you're taking charge like a fucking goddess is divine.

Heavenly. It makes me want to fall to my knees in front of you and ask how I can make my queen happy. And that's not me at all. I'm independent and strong and I don't cater to other people's whims. But for you? God, for you I'd take on all the zombies in this fucked up world at once. I fall back into soft sheets and pillows, staring at your body, the body that must rival Aphrodite's.

"Let's get these off, shall we?" Your fingers hook into my waistband and pull, revealing my naked body to you, letting you know exactly how turned on I am. But you're more of the hands on type of person, the type who likes to feel more than see, and right now that's my favorite type of person because when you press your naked body down onto mine and they fit together perfectly and you press a hand up against my hot, clenching center, I almost fall apart at the seams, groaning too loudly and then realizing what I've done.

I press a hand to my mouth and stare up at you, your face close to mine.

"We should be quiet," I whisper. "Our son is next door."

"Is he still a heavy sleeper?"

I nod, closing my eyes momentarily at the way your hand is still moving against me, exploring my anatomy.

"Then he won't hear a thing," you whisper, leaning down to sink your teeth into my trap muscle, making me hiss in pain and pleasure.

"He will hear us if you make me scream."

And I can feel you laughing against my skin, soothing the bite with your tongue.

"Fine. I'll stop," you say, pulling back to look into my eyes. Mine grow wide in horror, grabbing your hand without hesitation and shoving it back down to where it was making me feel incredible things just a moment ago. "Don't you dare!"

Another almost silent laugh, and you return to what you were doing, easing your fingers inside me, slowly at first and then suddenly I'm falling, gasping for air because you're stealing it from me with your invading fingers and tears leak out of my eyes when you push harder, curling them, curling them, god the way you're making me feel. Your thumb toys at my clit, pressing and running gently over it, and just like that, I'm coming.

I clench around you, seize up, clenching, squeezing, trembling, frozen. A height I haven't reached in so long, not with another person at least, and not like this, and not with these fucking zombies around all the time. I've tumbled over the side and it's pleasure, just pure pleasure until you catch me, holding me, cradling me in your arms as I try to breathe and as I come up for air and as I recover from that earth shattering experience.

How? How did you do this to me? Showing up and being a mother to my son and saving me from a zombie and soothing me and kissing me, giving me my memories back, and now this.

"Regina," I say, opening my eyes finally and looking up into yours. Patience, tenderness, and still a smoldering fire burning deep inside are what I see there. "Oh, god, Regina. That was . . ."

But you simply shush me, bringing up the fingers recently inside me and running them gently along my lips. They smell like me and then you're kissing me again, tasting me, devouring me and I'm there again, ready for you again. I push you off of me, sliding on top and holding our kiss, pressing my still sensitive lower half into yours, grinding against you. The moan that escapes your throat is swallowed into mine, and suddenly I'm jealous that you know what I taste like, but I haven't tasted you.

"I'm going to go down on you," I whisper in your ear, after breaking our kiss, relishing in the shudder I receive in response. But then you're shaking your head, pulling my face even with your own, staring into my eyes seriously.

"You don't have to do that. It's your first time. We can just . . ." But I cut you off with another kiss.

"I want to. God, do I want to. But you'll have to help me make sure I'm doing it right." The insecurity comes out in my voice, but you smile and nod, and I know it's going to be okay, that even if I fuck it up, you'll pull me back up here and we'll figure out something else to get you off. Like you getting yourself off while I watch. That would be something.

I shake myself from those thoughts and make my way slowly down your body, stopping every so often like a road trip across country, mapping your skin with my tongue, resting at landmarks and relishing in the way your back arches when I pull on your nipples and the way you finally get antsy when I take too long and push the top of my head down.

When I settle myself in between your thighs, I can just see past your heaving, sweaty skin that you're up on your elbows watching me, those dark eyes hooded and lust-blown. And with one experimental breath, I can smell you and it smells like sex and arousal and something primal in me snaps, turning me into some sort of beast who doesn't give a shit that she's about to put her mouth someplace it might not should go. There are certainly worse places I could put my mouth on your body, and right now I'd be willing even to do that. But maybe later.

Right now, I lick once, dipping into your wet arousal. So wet, and the taste is different, definitely, almost like my own but not quite. But that's not where you want me, I don't think. I think you probably like what I like, and that's a hot mouth clamped around your clit, and maybe a finger or two a little farther south. Or way farther south. Whichever.

So that's what I do. I lick slowly around your clit, circles, slow gentle circles and your hips lift off the bed in response, your hand goes back to my head, tangles itself in my hair and squeezes. God, this hair pulling. I kind of like it, I'm a little startled to admit, but you direct me to where you want me and how hard you want me using my hair as your puppet strings, and that leads me down the road to thinking about ropes and bondage and toys and I wonder if you're into that stuff too?

Another squeeze and a slight lift and then you're bucking against my mouth, and I know I've found the right spot, just to the side of your clit, back and forth with my tongue slowly. One of my hands holds on to your wildly undulating hips and the other reaches up to your pussy. I press inside and curl up the same way you did to me, keeping up the pressure of my tongue and you squeeze harder.

God, my hair is hurting and my tongue isn't used to working like this, but the way you're moving and gasping and squeezing tells me you've got to be close, so I keep going. Of course I keep going. And then your walls are tightening around my fingers and I can feel the spasming. You're gasping and breathing and coming and there's no better feeling than this, I don't think, being the reason you've come completely unraveled.

I back off when you release my hair, working my jaw and giving my tongue a rest. But your hands go instead to my ears and the sides of my face, pulling me up. Up and up your body I go, relishing again how good it feels to slide my naked skin against yours, and finally I'm face to face with you again.

"That was very good, Ms. Swan," you say and it certainly must have been because your eyes are still shining and slightly unfocused and your legs are trembling beneath mine. "Thank you, your majesty," I reply, smirking at the names because we haven't bothered with those formalities in a while, have we? We kiss, languidly sharing tastes, and now it's gentle, reserved, reverent.

I roll off of you, landing on the bed next to you and we lie there in silence, each staring up at the ceiling, lost in our own worlds. I haven't a clue what you're thinking about, but as for myself, I'm terrified of the step we've just taken. It was wonderful and incredible and I don't regret it for a minute, but I just made love to my son's mother. My mother's former step-mother. The woman responsible for cursing all those people to a different world. The curse I was destined to break and the world I was destined to save.

And this revelation, this realization is breathtaking. The Savior and the Evil Queen. Dark and light. Except I don't think you're dark. I think you're the brightest thing I've ever seen. The brightest my future has ever been. If there is such thing as destiny then it makes sense that we're together.

The candle is burning low, and I turn to you, watch you breathing and staring at the stillness of the ceiling. You're so beautiful, naked, sweat-drying in my sheets, hair even more mussed than when I first saw you in Central Park, lips barely parted.

"Regina," I whisper into the growing darkness and you turn to me, eyes open and receptive. "This is cliche, but, what are you thinking about?"

You smile, eyes flicking down my body and back up to my face. Your hands go again to my face and around my neck and pull me in. I settle in, lying sideways next to you, partially on you and resting my head on your chest and in your neck. Your hand runs down my back, scratching gently the skin there and I think if this is what after-sex is like with you, I never want to leave this bed.

"I'm thinking about Henry. And tomorrow. And what we're going to do about his memories."

Your voice is low, reflective, not worried necessarily. More concerned than anything, and I take a deep breath, exhaling across your chest. "Maybe when we get to the Enchanted Forest, and you've got your magic back, you can whip up something to return his memories."

"Maybe," you say, but it doesn't sound like you believe it necessarily. It sounds like this is going to more difficult than we thought. "But will he be willing to jump blindly through a portal with no prior knowledge of what we're doing?"

"I don't know."

"Well," you say resignedly. "We can't do anything about it right now. So we might as well try and sleep."

"Right, sleep."

"What?" You say, looking into my glinting eyes again. I grin. You grin.

"I'd rather not sleep."

"Neither would I."

You roll on top of me and a fresh feeling of arousal and euphoria rushes through me, centering low in my belly. I could do this all night long.

**A/N - Hope you all enjoyed. More to come soon.**


	16. Chapter 16

A/N - Wow folks – sorry it’s been several months since I last updated. Good news though, two chapter update this time. Here’s a brief recap in case you’ve forgotten what’s happened.

Chapter 14 – Whale and George tell Zelena about Henry and Emma in the Land without Magic. Zelena sends Neal to the Land without Magic along with the undead. Hook witnesses this.

Chapter 15 – Regina and Emma make it back to the apartment and share a kiss that restores memories and ignites passions.

\------------------------------------------

_March, Enchanted Forest._

**Rumple's castle is dark, moody, filled with anxiety. It's been months. Months since anyone has heard from Baelfire. Every morning at sunrise Rumpelstiltskin disappears with a pop and reappears at the stream where his son went into the portal.**

**And every day, he returns, disappointed again that no return portal has been opened, that Baelfire is still in that world, still stuck with the monkey and the three undead who by now have wrecked all sorts of havoc upon it.**

**And every day since Baelfire went into the portal, Zelena and Rumpelstiltskin have traveled throughout the Enchanted Forest, investigating and searching, constantly and fervently looking for any clues as to where Glinda might have ended up.**

**But today seems to be the day that Rumpelstiltskin has gone over the edge. He returns from the stream in quite a state, fuming and crackling with his suppressed magic, furious about the lack of a son he currently has.**

**"Zelena," he yells, as though she hasn't been watching him from the window the entire time. "I've had enough! Where is my boy?"**

**But Zelena has as much information as the Dark One, which he well knows, he simply needs someone to blame for the loss of his son, and rightly so. She had, after all, sent in those dreadful undead, thinking perhaps that they'd be more useful in that world than they had been here. Here, they simply moan and stumble around, willing to fight and get back up again when felled, but they have no fire, nothing that sets them apart as a useful weapon.**

**"I haven't the slightest, dear old Dad. But I do wish you'd have a seat and relax; you fuming around isn't doing either you or Baelfire any good."**

**"I will not sit down," his voice shakes with emotion. "I demand to be able to see him. To find out what's happened to him, why this is taking him so long to return."**

**Zelena thinks about it a moment, admitting to herself that she too is curious about what could possibly have held him up for all these months, and makes a decision.**

**"Very well then, gather up your magic, Dad. Let's take a look through my glass then, shall we?"**

**"We couldn't have done this from the beginning?" He growls at her, eyes flashing gold and brown.**

**"It requires quite a bit of magic, if you recall," Zelena says condescendingly, thinking back to the glimpses she'd gotten of Regina learning magic and succumbing to darkness through her looking glass all those years ago. It was only through Rumple and her combined magic that the device would function in gazing through the worlds. And the power required for it would leave them both drained and exhausted.**

**"Well, then, let's get to it. No time to waste, dearie."**

**Zelena smiles and extends her arm, allowing the Dark One to go in front as they approach her green-tinted looking glass. The Grimmerie weighs down her arms, hands moving to the correct incantation and lips moving over the words, snakelike, in the foreign tongue that only she in Oz could read. A unique tongue passed down to her from two magically powerful parents.**

**And with a flash of green and gold light, the glass illuminates itself, showing glimpses of another world, a dull, magic-less world that seems quite different than she expects. It zooms in, like a camera lens from outer space showing Earth and then North American. It draws closer and closer to the Northeast finally centering on Maine. But something is not right. There are fires that even this looking glass can see from miles and miles up, and the roads look disheveled, as if something has torn up sections of it. Closer still, and cars are upturned on highways, people are everywhere, stumbling around like they're lost. Stumbling around like they have nowhere to go, no plans, only the basest of desires. And still, the lens gets closer to the ground and Rumple can spot Storybrooke, but it too, looks different.**

**"What's happened to it?" Rumple mutters under his breath, joining in and focusing his magic on looking through the barrier, his face betraying his confusion.**

**"What do you mean?"**

**"It's different. The world, it's like something terrible has happened to it," he says, as his arms shake from the exertion.**

**"It does look like a war has taken place, doesn't it? That's not how you left it?"**

**"Of course not!" He exclaims, shrugging after a thought. "There were wars going on but not in our land, they were far away. But this, this is. . ."**

**He trails off, catching sight of something.**

**"Is that . . .Bae?"**

**And sure enough, from the corner of the glass, a trudging, stumbling figure crosses their view.**

**"What's the matter with him?"**

**"He looks . . .he looks like he's been diseased," Rumple says, face revealing his disbelief. Baelfire's mouth hangs at a strange angle, part of his jaw bone showing beneath the rotting skin. His shoulder is ripped open, tendons and muscles hanging askew.**

**"Strange."**

**"Strange?! Look at him," Rumple points, eyes breaking contact with the glass for a moment to glare at Zelena. "He's torn up, bloody! It doesn't look like he should even be alive. You knew this would happen and you sent them in anyway!"**

**Zelena shakes her head. "It seems that something has gone wrong. Perhaps the undead have infected him somehow. And where could my Chistery be?"**

**And instantly, the connection between the worlds is broken when Rumple loses his concentration and tries to wrap his scaly hands around Zelena's neck. She pulls out the dagger faster than he can move and he cowers back, falling to one knee as she slashes it through the air. It sizzles and crackles with the smell of ozone.**

**"Watch yourself, Dark One. You might be powerful, but I still control you. And it seems that your son has failed in his mission."**

**"Only by your hand," Rumple mutters, but Zelena hears him all too well. "You set him up to fail by sending in those undead. Do you have any idea what you've done?"**

**Eyes wide, Zelena can only stare down at him nervously. She glances back and forth between him and the looking glass. "I wanted the world to be worse. I didn't . . . I didn't think it would be so drastic."**

**"Drastic?" Rumple cries, opening his hands in bewilderment. "It looks as though you've destroyed part of the world. At least the areas surrounding Storybrooke! All for what?"**

**"To get her back! Can't you see?" Zelena retorts, her tone reaching a pleading note. "You've lost someone you love. Not me, of course. But you know what it's like to sacrifice everything . . . anything to get the person you love back."**

**"You might have set off a domino effect of your own, Zelena. That's what you don't realize."**

**"Just like you didn't realize the effects of your curse. Regina's curse. I understand the effects," Zelena says, chin now a little higher. "I'll take responsibility for it. But nothing will stand in my way of getting Glinda back."**

**She backs up, replaces the dagger deep in her cloak. "In any case, it's time to enact the second part of my plan."**

**"Your plan?"**

**"That's right, I'm capable of planning. And believe me, this world is in for quite a shock," Zelena turns on her heel, running a hand thoughtfully over her magic book. One of her most prized possessions. "Now, we simply need to prepare for the next part."**

**"The next part, what does that entail?" Rumple says angrily. "What we should be doing is going on a rescue mission for my son!"**

**"Now, now, Rumple. Keep in mind that he had a job to do. A job that he failed to complete. Now, I'll need to send in the backup plan."**

**"You mean . . ." He splutters. "You mean, you aren't planning on letting me rescue my son? He's just going to stay that way?"**

**"He's not my main concern, you know that."**

**After a brief pause where Rumple hangs his head, eyes down as he contemplates something, he looks up, mind made up and assurance on his features.**

**"I'll make another deal with you."**

**A scoff hits the air between them heavily. "You're in no position to be making deals, dearest Dad. I've got control over you."**

**"Not as much as you thought," Rumple says slowly, gauging Zelena's responses.**

**"What are you talking about?"**

**"The fact that I wasn't completely honest with you earlier," he pauses, tenses his body for the punishment sure to come. And just as he thought, a slashing glint of steel flies through the air and pain rips through his chest, blood blossoming crimson and spreading across his shirt.**

**"You lied to me?"**

**"Didn't lie per se, simply left out important information. About the order of the worlds."**

**If smoke could come out of one's ears in this world, it surely would be fuming out of Zelena's, and she sees red as her fury threatens to bubble over.**

**"So you're telling me that you withheld information that could lead me to Glinda, that she is most likely _not_ in this world?" **

**Rumple nods, knowing that his words will have seriously painful consequences, but he is now left with no other options.**

**"And when do you plan on giving me this correct information?"**

**Pausing for effect, and making sure that Zelena knows that he is completely serious, Rumple stands his ground. "As soon as my son is safely returned to me. The same deal you made Bae for your Glinda."**

**"So all this time," she rounds on him, circling, eyes blazing with fury. "You led me around this world for nothing, knowing that she wasn't here, and all the while your son was stuck elsewhere bleeding and infected?"**

**His own anger rises to the surface. "I didn't know he was hurt! You kept that information from me, not letting me see through your looking glass. And it's your fault the undead wreaked havoc on that world in the first place!"**

**Zelena ignores his dig, choosing instead to focus on his hidden knowledge. "It seems that I do not have complete control over your ability to share knowledge. And you're prepared to keep this information secret from me until Baelfire is returned, regardless of what I do to you?"**

**"That's right. And you can't kill me because I'm the only one left who has traveled these realms and who knows which one comes next," he says confidently, but Zelena can see the trepidation almost hidden in his eyes.**

**"We shall see about that," she replies, expression stony and ruthless. He says he won't talk, but after straight days of torture, she'll ask him again and see what he has to say about it. Returning her face to its thoughtful, reflective neutrality, Zelena looks back down on him.**

**"This is fine: a minor setback. It will still fit in with the plan."**

**And after a moment's silence when Rumple says nothing after her previous outburst, she goes on.**

**"First, I'll need you to help me restore the Charming's castle."**

**At this, he does speak, brow furrowed in confusion. "We're going to restore the castle for the Charmings?"**

**"Not for the Charmings, dearie," she says sardonically. "For Whale and George."**

**"Ah, a battle will be waged over it, then?"**

**"Indeed it will. And when the love-sick puppies arrive to reclaim what was once theirs, I'll have a nice little surprise waiting for them."**

**Rumple almost smiles, the ghost of his prior deviousness barely peeking through the now constantly haggard expression. "And what will that be?"**

**"You'll see. Meanwhile, you can go on and fill our resident Dukes in on their new acquirement of George's old castle. How excited they'll be to have a laboratory and a whole kingdom to watch over.**

**"And while you do that," she goes on, walking towards the staircase leading down to the dungeon. "I'll go fill in our dear Captain in on his role for this upcoming adventure, that if he wants his ship back, he'll need to find a way to get into the Land without Magic and bring back your son. And maybe help out with another little plan."**

\--------

Fending off these undead attacks combined with seemingly random flying monkey attacks has grown quite bothersome. After months and months of unending attempts to disrupt their daily lives, the people residing in the Dark Palace have grown accustomed to it, like residents in a war-torn country becoming as accustomed as one can be to daily bombings and air strikes. 

Regina looks around the great hall, observing the occupants having their breakfast and looking mostly optimistic for the coming day. There's Robin, seated across the room, and a pang hits her square in the chest, a pang of regret. But, it's too late for that now.

Robin seems quite cozy with another woman in the corner, sitting close together near the fire and taking turns playing catch with Roland. Regina feels just a twinge of jealousy, because it could have been so simple between them, could have been something that made her happy, but she just couldn't bring herself to return his attentions, and after a while, the man is no fool, he took the hint, looked elsewhere for companionship. 

Besides, she still has far too much on her mind for any sort of relationship like that, especially one with a thieving scoundrel like Robin Hood. That's what she tells herself. 

"Regina?" A voice draws her from her thoughts and she turns to Snow, who is watching her expectantly. 

"Sorry, did you say something?" 

"Yes," Snow says. "Belle was asking about Rumple. About whether you've had any success looking into the castle lately."

"Oh. No, I have told you already. Zelena removed the mirrors, so there's no way I can know what's happening there." 

Suddenly a blast of cool air washes over the occupants of the hall as the front door crashes open. Charming rushes in, still dressed in his riding gear, face flushed with excitement or anger, it's hard to tell which. 

"What is it?" Snow calls out and Charming hurries to stand next to her at the head of the room near the high table, turning to address everyone in the Hall. 

"Our castle has been rebuilt!"

"Our castle? But how?" Snow gasps, eyes lighting up with the opportunity to return home. 

"I don't know. I was out riding with the scouts near the border and we saw the castle standing, just as it once was."

"Sounds like Zelena has rebuilt it for George and Whale," Regina says darkly.

"Our castle! In that bastard's hands?" Charming spits. 

"Yes, our home! The home we built together," Snow agrees, shaking her head. 

"You mean the castle Charming here inherited from his fake father?" Regina eyes the couple. 

"Yes well, still, it feels more like home than this does," Charming says loftily. Regina manages toresist the dangerous urge to lob a fireball at his head. 

"Well, thank you, that warms the heart like nothing else."

"Regina, I'm sorry, but you know what I mean," Charming tries to backtrack, aware that he's hurt her feelings.

"It won't be the same, you know. Your chambers, your belongings, everything will be different. She'll be rebuilding it with Rumple's help, for George and Whale; it will be for them."

"But why is she doing this? Why would she rebuild it for them?"

"I don't have a clue. It must be in exchange for something. She won't do something like this for nothing. Perhaps she wants Whale to . . ." Regina pauses, the magnitude of where her thoughts have just gone freezes every part of them. A vivid memory of the stables and a lover who wasn't like he used to be. A man reanimated by Whale and made into a monster. 

"To what?" Snow asks, because she wasn't there. She didn't see him. 

Regina takes a deep breath, pushing those thoughts from her mind. "They might be planning to do something worse with these undead, perhaps turn them into more vicious beings using Whale's tendencies for macabre inventions." 

"Then we must stop them," Charming says, his tone taking on that regal, deep tenor he uses when trying to sound like a royal. 

"Yes, we should come up with a battle plan immediately. Attack and make sure Whale does not succeed in whatever he's trying to do," Snow agrees. 

"Again," Regina says, "They have the Dark One's power, and Zelena. And the undead. And all of the people who have deserted us and gone over to them. Like Baelfire for example."

"I think we're all forgetting that it's your hearts she's usin’ to pit the undead against us," a gruff voice sounds out from the door. 

Regina watches as Grumpy struts in. She inhales, working to calm herself.

"I have been fighting as hard as any of you against her. And it's not my fault she's using my mother's tricks to try and harm us."

"Well, it's hard to blame people for going to her side, anyway. Zelena does tend to give the people everything they want. Unlike someone else," Grumpy says, standing next to Charming. He dusts off his riding gear as well, scattering dirt and leaves all over her stone floor, having been out scouting with Charming.

"Oh shut it, dwarf," Regina snaps. "We're trying to rebuild what we had here, and she's simply giving in to the whims of the people, constructing a false utopia where she's still in charge." 

"It's like fascism," Belle says from her spot at the high table. Next to her, Ruby nudges her and whispers something in her ear. Despite Belle's questions about Rumple, she certainly seems to have grown close to a different kind of beast in these past months. Good, Regina thinks, perhaps Belle is finally realizing how terrible that scaly monster is for her, how he had his hands in every major event in their history, influencing people in all the wrong ways. 

"Right," Regina says from the side. She'd been elected to the position of adviser, seeing as no one wanted to see her in a position of real power again. "The people think they have a say in things, that they're unified together for a greater cause, but Zelena is out front and center and has her hands in everything, and it won't be pretty, whatever she's planning."

"I thought she just wanted her lover back?" 

"She also wants her revenge against me and Snow, so who knows what she has in mind." 

"And do you really think Neal went over to her side?" Snow asks, and Regina shrugs. 

"Our scouts saw him traveling past our boundaries. Where else would he be going?" 

"To rescue his father, perhaps?" Robin says and Regina barely resists an eye roll. He's been nothing but chivalrous to her, overly kind even after she'd rejected every one of his advances and flirtations. And now that he seems to have taken on with someone else, Regina wishes he wouldn't speak to her at all. 

"I don't think so. Neal knows how powerful the Dark One is. He wouldn't risk Zelena's wrath," Snow says. 

"Regardless, we've talked all of this to death already. If we're going to act, we should do it soon."

"So you think we should attack them?" Snow asks, brow furrowed. Regina runs a nail along her hairline, thoughtfully regarding the woman before her, front and center at the high table.

"I think that if they plan to do something as sinister as what I expect, then we should strike first, take them by surprise if we can manage it. Besides, I'm quite tired of all these undead reanimating themselves, so maybe we'll be able to stop her in that regard."

"Let's start planning right away," Charming says, always up for an adventure, Regina remembers, ready to stand up for his vision of what's right. Wonderful. But before the council and the rest of the Hall's occupants can discuss anything further, Charming bends to whisper something in Snow's ear. Whatever he says, she disagrees with it, shaking her head vehemently. 

\--------------

The mood amongst the fighters swings back and forth, Regina can feel it like a pendulum of emotion throughout the lines as they make their way over the hill and across the other side of Sherwood Forest to reach the Charming's castle. The ones out front, swinging their arms, laughing with each other and seemingly carefree are liars. 

They're terrified, putting on a brave face for outward appearances but on the inside, Regina knows that their innards writhe with the knowledge of what lies ahead. But there are others, Snow is one of them, and Ruby, who are quiet, subdued. They know very well what kind of power the two sorcerers they have yet to face truly yield. They know that their mission is probably futile, as Regina is not quite the match of the Dark One, magic-wise, but they have confidence that everything will turn out for the best. 

Regina can't decide which is worse, which of these feelings she hates buzzing around her more, because she is experiencing them both, anxiety about facing her sister teamed up with the Dark One, and the knowledge that probably neither of them will kill Zelena if it comes to that. She hopes that knowledge is truth. But if it is not the truth, at least Regina will be allowed her sleep and solitude from all of this. 

\-----------

They leave Sherwood Forest, pass over the now-vacant troll bridge, and back down to the coast to George's former castle. When they reach the castle, the whole band of them, Charmings, merry men, Ruby and Regina stop where they believe they are just out of firing range, taking a moment to survey the castle. Indeed it looks as if Rumple and Zelena have restored the entire thing to its former glory. But just as Regina begins to turn her head to Snow, her peripheral vision catches sight of something flying towards them.

An arrow. 

She halts it easily with a wave of magic, casting it to the ground, harmless and clattering as it hits a rock. So that's how they want to play, is it? 

Dismounting from her horse, Regina waits off to the side while Charming and Snow approach her, apprehension painting their faces colorless and wide-eyed. "Don't worry," she says with a smile that is meant to be comforting, but she is certain that it comes off as frightening, based on their matching expressions. "This won't hurt a bit."

And with that, she spins the three of them around in a flash of purple smoke and they disappear. 

But when the cloud of smoke reappears inside the castle, something is wrong. Her magic goes stagnant, she can feel it stifled within her fingertips, begging to be released but something is stopping it. And in the mere moments it takes for the smoke to clear, Regina can see not only what is holding her back, but also that she has made a grave mistake bringing them here. 

Rumpelstiltskin. 

Standing directly in front of her, he has his hand held aloft and is squeezing his fist closed, suppressing her magic and now holding a death grip on her throat. 

Vivid, flashing memories take her back to a childhood filled with this squeezing, suffocating oppression from her mother. This feeling of having nowhere to turn, like a caged animal who walked straight into a trap, even knowing that the still, silent air it wandered into was probably dangerous. Being restrained is Regina's least favorite pastime, and especially by someone who can use it to control and manipulate her. 

"Welcome to your castle, dearies," Rumple says with a smile, a not unkind one necessarily, but devious all the same. He is after all, co-grandparents with them. 

"Not theirs anymore, though, is it?" A gruff voice travels to the three intruders from across the entryway where Regina had transported them. 

"George," Charming says, swinging his sword in his usual roundabout way before taking a defensive stance and glaring at his pseudo father. Snow, next to him, already has an arrow notched to her bow. And for the life of her, Regina still isn't sure why she's the one restrained while these two are allowed to roam free. Perhaps it's the magic. Go figure.

"David," George says with a sneer as he hops down from the stairs. Whale waits at the top, not wanting to get his hands dirty with all this fighting business. "You walked right into our little trap, didn't you? Couldn't resist trying to win the castle back that you stole from me?" 

"I do believe we defeated you in battle, George. So it was won, not stolen," Snow says, keeping her eyes on Rumple, pulling the bow taut as she takes her aim at him, aware now that he is slowly strangling Regina. "Let her go, Rumple!"

"He can't, my pretty," another voice emerges from the staircase, and it's followed by its source, the green-tinted witch from Oz. She nearly floats down the stairs, passing by George without another glance and fixes her gaze on the newcomers. "I have the Dark One's power, remember? And I would like to see my sister suffer just a little bit." 

Regina gurgles in response, the invisible hand around her throat squeezing tighter, lifting her up on to her tiptoes. But she keeps her eyes open, dark orbs trained on her sister, watching her come closer and closer even as black spots begin to pop up in her vision. 

"Fine, fine," Zelena sighs, waving a hand dismissively and Rumple releases his former student. Regina crumples to the stone floor, gasping for breath, and finally her sight returns, allowing her to see the dirt and grime on the floor, remnants of the ruin her curse brought upon this castle. It doesn't seem to be as restored as they thought.

"Now," Zelena says, keeping her eyes on Regina as she sits up, massaging her throat. "Let's talk business, shall we?"

"What kind of business?" Charming pauses for a moment, lowering his sword a fraction. 

"Well, I was thinking of presenting you and your precious Snow White here with a proposition, if you will, or a deal if you're used to exchanges with Rumpelstiltskin." 

Rumple's mouth quirks up in a half smile, and Charming tilts his head towards Snow, transferring the decision to his wife. 

"What sort of deal? Do you plan on stopping the use of these undead against us?" 

Zelena laughs, a high cackle that echoes throughout the hall. "Gracious, no. But you're close. I do plan on doing something a little worse with those poor souls." 

"What's the ultimatum, then?" Regina chimes in, recovered now and pushing herself to her feet. And at Zelena's questioning gaze, she goes on. "If we don't do what you ask, you're going to do something worse with the undead." 

"Right you are, sister. In fact, now this is a fun twist," Zelena says with a sideways grin at Charming and Snow. "You two are going to endure a sleeping curse."

"What?" Regina asks, indignantly. That's her forte, and Maleficent's, not something to be used by the Wicked Witch of the West. She's supposed to specialize in monkeys and flying around on broomsticks. 

"Yes, and it has to be administered of your own free will, of course. That is the way it works, isn't it sis?" 

Regina's indignance turns into outrage at what her sister suggests. Granted, Zelena hasn't said  _Regina_  would be enduring the sleeping curse, although that wouldn't have been a terrible idea, but to put both Snow and Charming under it? "You can't possibly expect them to do what you say."

Zelena laughs, a hearty laugh filled with disdain. "If the backlash for refusing to do what I say is bad enough, I'd say they are probably willing to do just about anything." 

"What are you going to do to us?" Snow asks, taking a small step forward and tilting her head. 

"Well," Zelena starts, circling the trio, her heels clacking against the stone. "It's not something I plan on doing directly to you, necessarily. No, this is something that will affect the ones whom you left behind." 

"What do you mean?" Charming asks, and Regina racks her brain for any memory of telling Zelena about Emma and Henry, about leaving them in the Land without Magic, but she can find none. She never said a word about it. 

"Your daughter of course, the product of True Love. The Savior." 

Snow and Charming gasp collectively at the thought that some other harm might befall their daughter, even though the idiots put the baby in a tree to begin with and sent her off into the world, hoping for her best chance. 

"How do you know about that?" Regina asks, eyes searching her sister's face, knowing there isn't a way to get back into that world, but holding on to the what ifs anyway. What if she could get through, what does she have planned for revenge, and what if she knows about Regina's connection to Henry? 

"A couple of little birds told me all about it," Zelena says, indicating the two men now standing at the foot of the stairs. Whale and George watch in silence, smug expressions on both their faces. 

"You bastard," Charming starts, advancing on the man who traded him for his brother on a deal to unite kingdoms. In many ways, Regina could relate to Charming, to being used like a pawn in someone else's game. But this hero's complex is something else, something that reminds her a little too much of Emma. With only a flicker of movement from Rumpelstiltskin, Charming freezes, sword raised, and only his eyes can move now. 

"Now, now," Zelena tsks, waving her hand and conjuring two shining, green apples, one for each hand. She winks at Regina, tipping her figurative hat to her sister's method of administering the sleeping curse and adding her own spin to it. Regina rolls her eyes. So cliché. 

"Here's the proposition: if you refuse to eat these apples, I will be forced to send a wave of these undead into that world and have them wreak havoc directly on your beloved daughter and her son." 

At that, Regina's hackles raise in alarm. But it can't be. She pipes up. "Two problems with that, Zelena. One, there are no more portals, no way to get back through the worlds. And two, do you have any idea what sort of hell you'd be unleashing? Magical creatures behave very differently in other worlds." 

Zelena rolls her eyes, speaks sardonically. "Ah, I've always wanted a sister who could lecture me about the safe uses of magic, to protect me from bad things that I might unleash."

"I wouldn't be protecting you, dear. I'd be protecting the entire world from enduring widespread destruction at your hands." 

"Such a martyr you've become. Anyway, I do have a way to get through the worlds, regardless of what you say about a reset. And I will send those undead through if you two don't take a nice big bite." 

The apples float by themselves through the air, each one coming to a stop in front of Snow and Charming. The couple stares uneasily at the apples, and Rumple unfreezes Charming; he drops the sword to his side.

"I have read all the legends and lores of this land, and isn't it sad irony that the only one able to save the rulers of this land are each other, sleeping side by side? Unfortunately for you, however, you won't be sleeping forever."

"What does that mean?" Charming asks, breaking his gaze on the apple and staring once more into the witch's face. 

"I am sorry, dear. I'll speak slower for you. Let me spell it out for you." She conjures something else, suspending it in the air and hanging it out in the middle if the room. A sand dial, small and gold and suspended on a chain. "You'll have a limited time to be under this sleeping spell. And when the sand runs out of this dial before you've been awoken, I'll kill you both." 

"But who will break the curse, if we're each other's True Loves and we're both under the spell?" 

"That, dearest rulers," Zelena says condescendingly, looking Snow up and down. "Is exactly it. Now, take a bite. Otherwise your dearest daughter and grandson will suffer excruciatingly. And if I'm not mistaken . . .your new baby."

Regina's eyes fly over to Snow, who covers her belly instinctively with her hands. That explains the slight weight gain and slightly baggy clothing, Regina muses. And the fierce whispering at the castle. It's hard for Regina to believe overprotective Charming agreed to let Snow out of the castle in her state. She must be several months along by now, and yet she still insists on riding out with the warriors, confronting witches and more sleeping curses. Unless . . . Regina looks over at him. He looks as shocked as she feels. Snow hadn't told him yet.

Another pang hits Regina in the chest. More happiness for Snow and Charming, rebuilding their family from scratch. It reminds Regina of Neverland, of sharing a cabin with Emma on the return trip on the Jolly Roger and hearing her cry herself to sleep. Even with what they thought was their son safely on board, the woman still felt alienated from her parents, who both apparently wanted nothing more than to start fresh with a new child. To hell with Emma. 

"You wouldn't dare hurt a pregnant woman," Snow says, turning away from the witch and towards the protection of her husband, but Zelena only laughs. 

"I don't give a damn about your baby. If the wretched beast is collateral damage, so be it."

"Absolutely not," Charming says loudly. "I'll eat the apple, but if Snow is . . .pregnant, you can't do this. Use me instead." 

Zelena waves her hand, zapping the sound from his throat. He gapes and moves his lips, but nothing comes out.  "Regina," Snow says, squeezing his arm, eyes pleading with her former step-mother. "Is there any way around this?" 

But she doesn't have the answer. Regina doesn't know if this is all real or not, whether her sister really can travel through the worlds, and if she actually will send those undead through. 

"I don't know. This could be a bluff." She turns to Zelena. "I don't believe that you can really travel through worlds. I want you to prove it." 

"You're not really in a position to be making demands, are you?" Zelena shrugs, knowing that a little proof never hurt anyone. "But think about it. I had to get here somehow. I must have some method of traveling, don't you think?" 

"I suppose, but is this really all worth it? Putting them under a curse just so you can have your revenge?"

Zelena laughs at that and Regina understands the irony of her comment. "Really? I'm simply repeating your actions, short of casting the Dark Curse and trying to take away everyone's happy endings. You did this exact same thing with Snow once, didn't you?" 

"Yes, and it didn't work." 

"Well, you'll have to hope the same outcome awaits you for this one as well. Go on then, Charmings, take a bite. It's a family recipe, you know." 

And after one more questioning look towards Regina who still has no answers, Snow reaches out and grasps the apple, her husband furiously shaking his head at her. She stares at it, perplexed, stuck, and does the only thing she can do. Protect her family in the only way she knows how. As Regina well knows, one bite is all it takes, and that is no exception for Zelena's apple. 

One bite of the crisp apple and her eyes close as she tumbles to the ground, already asleep. Charming moves quickly, catching her before she hits the stones, cradling her head in his lap. Tears well up in his clear blue eyes and Regina can't help the pang of longing in her heart, wanting that feeling, that devotion from someone she loves, someone who loves her back. She thinks of Henry and of Emma. Of Emma? Strange, she thinks next but has no time to reflect.

"Regina," he says, looking defeated at his inability to protect his wife and newest child, holding the remaining apple up to his mouth. "Don't leave us in there too long?" 

She nods, knowing that he's speaking of the dream world, that fiery place both he and Snow have traveled before. And without a second of further hesitation, Charming bites a chunk off the apple and chews with his eyes closed. He collapses underneath his wife, asleep and for all anyone knows, close to death except for the faintest heartbeat in his chest. 

"Why curse both of them and not me?" Regina turns to her sister, feeling helpless and small. 

"Oh, I feel like you'll be busy doing more important things than sleeping. And besides, I know you want nothing more than to escape this reality, and why would I give you that satisfaction?" 

Regina doesn't know what to say. More important things than sleeping? Like rescuing her former arch nemesis from a sleeping curse? But how? She's certainly not anywhere close to being their True Love. 

"Now, take this timekeeper," Zelena says, tossing the chained trinket towards her half-sister, who catches it deftly, holding it up in front of her face. "They'll have ten sunrises in this sleeping curse. And after that, well, you know what's next. Rumple, would you be so kind as to escort my dear sister back to your castle and down to the dungeons?" 

"Dungeons?" Regina cries. "How am I supposed to get them out of a sleeping curse if I'm locked up?" 

"Good question," Zelena says and waves her hand dismissively. She steps past George and Whale at the foot of the stairs, summoning her broom to her hand, and before she walks out the front door, she turns to face her sister once more. "Oh and by the way, I might have accidentally sent through a small wave of the undead already. Sorry, dear."

"You what?" Regina screeches, reaching out to cast some dark hex on her sister for lying, for sending those monsters through to where they have access to her son, for tricking the Charmings. Rumple holds his hand out, stopping Regina from harming her, and Zelena only cackles as she disappears out the door. 

With a wave of that same hand, Rumple disappears Snow and Charming in a puff of red smoke. He twirls his finger and a pair of shackles appear on Regina's wrists, and she can feel the suppression they have on her immediately, preventing her from doing magic. The time keeper is now around her neck, and it feels heavy for its small size, it burns slightly against her skin, brimming with the promise of impending death.

"Did she really send the undead through?"

"She did," Rumple says, nodding somberly. "Several months ago, along with my son and one of her monkeys." 

Regina's mouth hangs open in disbelief, shuffling forward. "Baelfire's gone through? Why would she do that? And where did you send Snow and Charming?" 

But Rumple only shakes his head. Perhaps he's not authorized to give details. "Back to your castle, of course. Hopefully the warriors you left outside will figure out the battle is over and go home as well." 

"How could she have done this? Does she have any idea what horrors she has unleashed upon that world?"

"It doesn't matter to her, Regina, her love is not there. She is in a different world, so she doesn't care what has happened to the people in the Land without Magic. Everything she does, however, is calculated and for a reason." 

And with that Rumple vanishes them both in a cloud of smoke, reappearing back in his castle, down in the dungeons. 

\------------


	17. Chapter 17

 

_April 4 – Land without Magic_

\--------

The morning brings sunlight and glaring reality hot and unforgiving into Regina's awareness. She rolls over, taking a half-smirking glance at the still-sleeping woman next to her beneath the sheets. Poor thing, Regina thinks, must be so exhausted from their hushed explorations in the darkness. She flushes at the memories of what exactly they had explored and discovered. Too little sleep and not enough energy left for the day.

And besides, Regina thinks, stretching her back muscles and wincing at the other parts that groan and protest, parts she hasn't exercised in quite some time, there's a decision to be made. 

Two decisions, actually. 

One, what to do about Henry and his memory. Hook doesn't yet know that Emma has her own memory back, after a True Love's kiss. Something Regina is not quite ready to delve into. He'll know soon enough. And the look on his face when she tells him that Emma is hers, that Henry is hers, and that he has no claim whatsoever on their family, Regina will relish seeing that expression. 

And the second thing that needs to be decided is what vehicle to take back to New York. A car, the car she came in, or one of Emma's. Resourceful woman. Sometimes infuriating and exhausting and idiotic. But resourceful. 

Or the boat the damned captain stole from Storybrooke's port. Or commandeered, as he liked to say. 

A rustling next to her and a creeping hand running slowly up her back brings Regina back to the bedroom, and when she turns to look at a now smiling, but awake Emma, their eyes meet. The look isn't awkward like she thought it might be. 

In fact, it's full of what looks like love and affection, like domestic bliss. And the panic that look ignites inside Regina is startling. The look that flashes across her face, Emma must have seen it, because the hand on her back pushes Emma up in bed, the sheets hiding her nude body, the body that only hours before had been so deliciously pressed against Regina's. 

Emma leans toward her, concern etched across her face at the sheer panic enveloping the other, now trembling woman. Emma doesn't touch, simply sits close by, watching, waiting for permission to do something, to help. 

"Regina, what's wrong?" 

A deep breath. Another one. Calm. She needs to be calm. Queens do not behave in this fashion. Mothers do not behave this way. This emotion, this raw, sheer feeling that Emma invokes in her, this fear, reminds Regina so much of her youth. 

First love, with Daniel, all the happiness she had with him, the innocence and the hope. It was pure and everything she ever wanted. 

But afterwards, with her mother's magic controlling her life and ripping Daniel from her world, there was no more hope, no more innocence, and certainly no more happiness. A life without control, a life without a purpose. 

Until she found a reason for living, for getting her revenge on Snow and ending the king once and for all and throwing off her mother's hold. Until then, it was all out of her control. 

And that's how she feels now, falling down a rabbit hole, tumbling and stomach clenching and adrenaline rushing, and so completely out of control that she doesn't know how to handle it. 

"Same as last night," she whispers, a tear leaking out of her eye that she angrily wipes away. Weakness. It makes her want to punch something. Or wrap her magic around something and watch it crumble in her hands. 

But she feels gentle, work worn hands along her back, sliding around her waist and to her stomach, pulling her in and holding her close. The sheet has fallen away and it's just Emma's skin pressed against her own, warm and strong. 

It's safe. But is it enough? 

"It's okay. We'll be okay." 

She just needs a moment. Just a minute to pull herself together. And Emma lets her have it, holds her and sits still until Regina stops trembling. It only takes a minute. 

She pulls forward, turning in Emma's arms and looking again into her eyes. The expression is still there, support, love, reassurance. It's still terrifying, but it's not as bad as before. 

"Thank you," Regina says. "I'm sorry, Emma, I just . . ." 

But Emma cuts her off with a shake of her head and a smile. "Don't apologize. It's okay. Listen, we'll take it slow. Nothing rushed, okay?" 

Regina glances down at Emma's now exposed body, pressed against her own. And laughs through a released breath. "It's a little late for that, don't you think?" 

Emma shrugs, accepts it and rolls with it, something she is good at, somehow. "Sometimes sex is just sex. But a relationship? That's something that takes work." 

Simple words, Regina thinks, but so true. All she can do is smile, nod, lean and plant a soft kiss on those wise lips. Lips that for a while, Regina thought could only expel idiotic, typical Charming phrases. 

Emma grins into the kiss, and when they pull back, she runs her fingers gently along Regina's jaw. 

"I think I hear the kid waking up in there. Think we should get dressed?" 

Regina's eyes dart to the wall. She heard nothing, but then again, her ears haven't been attuned in the last year to the lurking, hungry, infectious undead. She nods and they scramble around for their clothes, knowing that Henry walking in on them in states of undress is not the best way of letting him know of their budding relationship. 

* * *

 

"Hey kid," I say brightly. Maybe a little too brightly because he looks at me quizzically, or maybe it's not me he's looking at. No, it's definitely you, looking perfect as usual, right behind me in the living room. 

Does it look like we've both just come out of my room? I'm not sure, but I thought you were far enough away there. Maybe not. 

"Morning," he says, still frowning. He greets you too, which is good and polite of him. Such a good kid. He's my main concern right now. 

I know that you're freaking out about the True Love thing and the kiss and last night, and all of those things deserve to be talked about and mulled over and all of that, but the main concern is Henry. And I know that's your main concern too, having raised him and all. 

What's weird, though, is that I still have memories of raising him. Shit, now I know how trippy it must have been for all those Storybrooke townspeople when the curse was broken, having dual personalities and two sets of memories. How does a person go about keeping the two separate? 

The memories are so vivid and so good. Henry saying his first words, taking his first steps and busting his head open a couple weeks later, and the frantic emergency room trip that followed. All those diapers, those disgusting stinky diapers, the throw up and the nightmares, the first days of school. I have memories of all of it, and suddenly I realize where they came from. You. 

I look at you, breath stolen from my chest, tears somehow filling my eyes, unaware and uncaring that Henry is watching me and you're now watching me and you're both wondering what the hell is the matter with me. But I have all these memories because you gave them to me and god you didn't have to do that. You gave us happiness. You gave me what I didn't have, what I couldn't have. 

You gave me his childhood, everything I gave up when the nurses took him away. We share it now and god you're beautiful for doing that. 

"Hello? Earth to Mom?" Henry's voice seems far away, and he's waving his hand now in front of my face, wondering probably why the hell I'm looking at you like this. But I can't help myself. 

I want more than anything to take you up into my arms and just hug you, squeeze you and thank you for what you've given me. I wish Henry could feel what I'm feeling too. 

Pulling myself together, I shake my head, smile at the both of you and gesture to the door. 

"Ready for breakfast?" 

Henry looks between the two of us, question all over his face, but he keeps quiet, shrugs and follows me down the stairs. 

He knows something's up, I can see it in his face, but he'll ask me about it later, probably. The kid's never been afraid to ask questions. 

\--------

"Morning," Hook says gruffly without looking up from his work. He is chopping something, preparing some semblance of breakfast. What it will be, I don't have a clue. Can't be terribly delicious. Nothing in this new era of zombies is. 

Except that one time Henry and I stumbled upon an entire intact box of hostess cupcakes. God, the chocolate. The guy in zombieland wanted his twinkies, but I'll tell you something, those cupcakes hit the spot. 

Anyway. 

"Good morning," I say brightly and for some reason that makes the pirate look up from his task, frown etched upon his features. A similar look to what Henry gave me before. Well, then, perhaps I should be less open about my emotions, if they are so plainly on my sleeve. 

The three of us, the kid, you and I all sit down at the table in the courtyard, eating silently the food Hook sets before us. Indeed, it is not delicious, but it makes me not hungry anymore, so I don't complain. 

I look at you briefly before I speak, noting your stoic, neutral expression. Should probably take notes on that. 

"So," I say, trying for a less cheerful tone. "I've decided that we're going to Storybrooke." 

"We are?" Henry whips his head around to me, excitement lacing his voice. An adventure. He's wild about adventure, and wild especially about getting out of this damned apartment where I've been trying to keep him safe. It's difficult, because he wants to roam. He's like a feral cat trapped inside who needs to be outside. 

"Yes." 

"What changed your mind, Swan?" Hook's eyebrow is raised, eyeliner eyes glistening almost dangerously at me in the early light. 

There goes that rule. Oh well. I drop the fork onto my plate, lean back in my chair, all the way back onto two legs, hoping I don't fall back and bust my damn head open, and I look at you. Still expressionless. So I make an executive decision. Better now than later. Maybe.

"I got my memories back." 

You clear your throat, raise an eyebrow at me, so I try again, trying not to meet either Henry's or Hook's gaze. Not yet. 

"Okay, that's not how it happened. Regina . . . gave me my memories back." 

The kid stays quiet, mulling it over. But Hook is still frowning, staring intently at me. 

"Gave you your . . ." Hook starts, looking between us. "Did you brew a potion, or . . .?"

You shake your head, for the first time looking a bit like the cat who ate the canary. 

"Ah," he says, understanding washing over his features. And that's all he says. Then, for the rest of the meal, he sits, glaring darkly at his plate with arms crossed, looking thoroughly pissed off. And you, for your part, look the exact opposite, as if you'd like nothing more than to lord it over his head. What is this, some sort of competition? 

It's not something I've thought about between the two of you. Yes, I realize there is animosity between you, as there should be, with what Hook has done to you in the past, but a competition for my affections? Jesus. 

"So when are we leaving?" The kid says hesitantly, trying to diffuse the tension around the table. I meet his gaze, and I see understanding in it. Wise beyond his years. We'll have to talk later, me and him. 

"Today. We're running out of time according to this sand dial," my thumb jerks over to you, to the little golden clock around your neck. A sudden memory of it bumping down against my chest last night as you hovered over me, sweating and panting for more is vivid and distracting. I shake it off, knowing I have to focus. It's early, and if we want to go today, we need to get out of here soon, while we have daylight. 

"What we need to decide, though, is the method of travel." 

Hook brightens at this a little, back into his element. Captain of the ship. "The vessel I commandeered has more than adequate accommodations for all of us." 

I nod. I figured he would have picked a good boat when he stole one from Storybrooke's port, a small enough one of course so that he could steer it himself, but a nice one nonetheless. "What about driving, Regina? How were the roads when you came down?" 

You shake your head, and while you haven't told me about the journey from Maine, I can see from your expression that it can't have been an easy one. "Not good. Fallen trees and wrecked cars everywhere. It wasn't easy getting past all of it. Not to mention the hordes of undead." 

"So, then, we'll go by boat. Hook, it's a sailboat of some kind, right? How long will it take us to get there?" 

He gazes at the wall, in the direction of the East River and wherever he docked the boat I'm sure. The sky looks clear from where we are, but the currents and winds and ocean storms are things I'm not an expert about. 

"On the way here, I encountered headwinds and a strong northerly current, warm water for this latitude and longitude, I'd say." 

I nod, because this is something I do know a bit about. "Yeah, that's the Gulf Stream. It's usually stronger in the summer, though. It carries warm water from the equator up to the arctic circle." 

Hook looks at me, differently now than before this morning, as if someone has kicked his stomach in. He tries for a more professional expression. 

"I calculated around four hundred thirty nautical miles from there to here. And with favorable winds, and a good angle with the sails, we can almost double the speed of the wind. So at 35 knots, and 430 nautical miles, we can possibly make it in twelve and a half hours. If all goes well." 

"Any idea about storms, anything that could possibly set us back?" This makes me wish for modern technologies, for the internet and weather forecasts, because conditions can change so quickly without forewarning. We've got a barometer inside, which helps, but nothing is like radar. 

He shrugs, gestures to the sky. "We will have to hope there will be none."

"Where is the boat?" You ask and the look that you two exchange is downright hostile.

Hook looks at me instead of you, pointedly ignoring you. 

"I made port at what looked to be a ferry station on the East River, near a large road called F-D-R. Strange name for a road, I thought, but not far from here."

I nod. "I know where that is. Would you rather go ahead and get everything ready or wait for us and go together?" 

"He's not going anywhere without us," your voice is cold, and I look at you, eyebrow raised. Hook grins. "Bastard left without me in Storybrooke on that boat and I had to find my own way here. We're not giving him the chance to do it again." 

"Fine," I say, looking at Hook. "We'll keep our eye on you then, Hook, since you're not exactly trustworthy." 

Hook holds his good hand over his heart, looking appalled. "I'm shocked, Swan. I've never done anything to deceive you." 

Scoffing, I tilt my head at him. 

"Like when you ran back to Cora over and over again back in the Enchanted Forest?" 

Affronted again, Hook shakes his head. I catch the grimace on your face as I mention her name. "You're the one who shackled me in the giant's lair. And I helped your friends Aurora and Mulan at the portal." 

"Yeah, after you stole Aurora's heart and used it against us." 

"I redeemed myself in Neverland, I'd say." 

"Maybe so," I say, frowning at him and inclining my head to Regina. "But leaving her to be tortured was pretty wrong." 

He shrugs, looks off into the distance. 

"He has the slippers." 

I watch you for a long moment, and I know that you're right. He'll try to leave without us if he can. Especially now that he knows you and I have shared a kiss. He doesn't know what else we've shared, but it won't take him long to figure out how deep our connection really is. 

"Hand them over," I say. He shakes his head. "Absolutely not. What's to stop you two from simply leaving me here?" 

"Someone needs to steer the boat, remember? And besides, I know you don't want to stay here. We're taking you back."

"Not to mention," you say. "Emma and I saved your life. Against better judgment I might add. You owe us." 

Hook glares, and glares some more. Finally, he reaches into his coat and pulls out the sparkling silver slippers, tosses them towards you. Deftly, you catch them both, slipping them easily into your bag. 

"Great," I say, looking at my watch. It's almost noon. "Now let's get some stuff packed up and we'll be out of here in an hour." 

\--------------

We have to get from our side of Central Park to FDR and the East River, near where the ferry station was. It's still there of course, but there's no one left to run the ferries. No one alive anyway. 

There's no need to bring a car because the river is about ten blocks over, but this journey, like the ones I've taken the last few days is dangerous. It's always risky going out and facing the masses of zombies, especially in a big group like we have. More people equals more of a chance for someone to mess up, to make a noise, to accidentally hurt themselves and put the rest of us at risk. 

And as usual, as we pass through alleyways and shortcuts to FDR, I'm worried sick that something's gonna go wrong, that the zombies are gonna get get Henry somehow and it will be all my fault because I agreed to go on this adventure. 

But it has to be done. I couldn't refuse. My parents need help, so the decision when I got my memories back, thanks to you and that kiss, became much simpler, much more black and white. And besides, we need to get out of this god-forsaken world. Maybe yours is better.

I have to reach out and grab the kid by the t-shirt when he tries to step off the curb and almost out into a side street full of rambling walkers. He squats down beside me, breathing hard and eyes me apologetically. 

"Whoa. Sorry." 

"That's okay," I tell him, and I can feel you behind me. Just your presence alone is comforting and calming. You don't even have to say anything and I know that you're here to help me keep him safe. 

"We'll just have to be really careful, all right?" The kid nods and a simple plan forms in my head. Distraction. 

We have to get past this crowd and the way to the river is fastest this way. Back the way we came is more walkers. Hell, what am I talking about? They're fucking everywhere. And it doesn't make sense because I've been killing them and burning them methodically this entire year. I shake my head, refocusing. 

I pick up an empty beer bottle, its paper label faded and crumbling by now so that I can't recognize the brand. Squeezing the warm glass in my hand, I test its weight and motion at Hook to get his attention. 

He's been sulking since this morning, but we need everyone on board for this otherwise none of us will survive. Nodding finally when he gets my gist, his eyes like puppies, I ignore that and cock my arm back. The bottle sails through the air, clear to the other end of the street. It smashes against a car windshield, glass flies everywhere and the noise echoes around the block. 

It does the trick. 

Every walker in the areas turns like they've choreographed some sick flash mob and stumbles towards the ruckus, interested and hungry. Always hungry.

"Let's go," I whisper, and lead the way past the distracted zombies. 

Finally, we've made it, only FDR stretches out before us and there's the East River, silvery blueish green as it flows gently past us. I can see the boat Hook has left docked safely between wooden pylons. It bobs gently with the current, calling to us, telling us to hurry the hell up. 

I'm not an idiot. I don't argue with boats. 

So we pick our way through the stalled and empty cars, some of them definitely not empty, definitely still holding their dead and rotting former drivers, but we hurry past them and I can only hope Henry hasn't been too terribly scarred from this nightmare of a year. 

I'm terrified the entire time that something's gonna pop out in front of us every time I encounter another motionless car, but nothing happens. It's eerie almost, how quiet it is save for the water I can hear now against the dock and the seagulls overhead, circling and searching for fish. 

At least plants and animals haven't been terribly affected by all this zombie shit. They go about their business as usual, probably thrilled not to be terrorized by humans anymore.

We make it to the boat unscathed. 


	18. Chapter 18 - To the Land without Magic

**March 30 - Enchanted Forest**

In the dark depths of the dungeons, locked away in a tiny cell, Regina runs her hand along the rusty iron bars next to the single cot. The destructive force of time and rot feels rough against her fingers, peeling through even with Rumpelstiltskin's cosmetic face lift on his castle. These palaces and castles and fortresses could neither escape her curse, nor the curse of time and neglect.

Neglected, forgotten. It's how Regina feels, now that Snow and Charming are asleep and wandering the dream world. Who will come to help her find a way into another world to protect her son and Emma from the undead? The problem is, she muses, that she has no friends in this world. After condemning them all to a world of unhappiness and a mundane, monotonous life, after killing their loved ones and locking them up in her prisons, who in their right mind would come to her aid?

Robin, perhaps? The one whom Snow sent up to check on her, to make sure she didn't try to kill herself, the one who tried to make a connection with her over their sons? But there's no way he could get through this castle's defenses and flying monkeys and Rumpelstiltskin, and Regina has learned by now that holding out hope for something unlikely is never the wisest choice.

Suddenly a clanging crash resounds throughout the dungeons followed by a low, muffled curse. Regina hauls herself to her feet, holding both shackled, magicless hands against the bars and peers out into the darkness at whatever made that noise.

"Who's there?" Regina whispers, hoping, even though she knows she shouldn't, that someone, whoever it may be, is there to help her.

"Good evening, your majesty," comes the sardonic reply, and a figure steps up to the bars and into her sight. Regina resists the urge to roll her eyes. Great. It's none other than Captain Hook, roguishly grinning his gleaming smile through the bars.

"What are you doing here, pirate? I thought you went off to find your boat?"

He manages to look affronted. "My  _ship_  is being held hostage, actually. And besides, I'm here to rescue you. You should know: a lady in distress is my greatest weakness."

"Like hell it is," Regina hisses, pointing a finger at him, her shackles clanking against the bars. "Your weakness is plunder and pillage. And rum. And Emma Swan, probably."

Nodding, he grins again while eyeing her bindings. At once he begins rummaging around in the many pockets of his long leather coat, pulling out several thin metal instruments and sets himself upon picking the lock. "You are absolutely right, love. And now, let's get you out of here so we can go rescue her and the boy."

A frown, followed by a moment's pause because Regina thought this was information only she, Rumple and Zelena were privy to. "What do you know about that?"

Unfazed, Hook continues working on picking the lock while he speaks again. "It's old news to me. And besides, I do know how we will travel from this world to that one, and that's something. Wouldn't you say, your majesty?"

Regina ignores his stabbing words, his jibes at her utter lack of royalty at the present moment, for the more pressing matters at hand. "You have a portal?"

He shrugs, focusing on the squeaking, grating metal. "Have, I think, is subjective. I do know where to get one, though. And to make it work, I'm going to need your magic."

"Ah, the plot thickens," Regina says, because she had wondered how exactly Zelena traveled here, and Hook grins mischievously at her. That he is trying his charm out on her turns twisting knots in Regina's stomach. "Well, hurry up and get me out of here, then, you smarmy bastard."

"I always knew I liked you," Hook says, springing the lock at last and stepping back, allowing a surprised Regina to leave the cell first. "Now, we'll need to get those shackles off you somehow. They're keeping you from your magic?"

Regina nods, holding them out to him, and he uses the same technique as before to spring the mechanism. It doesn't take long before Regina is divested of the shackles and free, feeling the heady power surge again through her skin. Not that it will do her much good against the Dark One and Zelena combined.

"Thank you," she says, not unkindly. "Now, how do we get our hands on this portal?"

Hook flashes another crooked grin. "We're going to have to steal a pair of shoes from beneath your sister's long, green nose."

"A pair of shoes?" Regina narrows her eyes suspiciously. Surely not. "Ruby red slippers?"

Hook shakes his head. "These ones are silver, love. Now, let's be off, shall we?"

Water drips almost melodically from the ceiling, sounding like the end of a spring thunderstorm. If a spring shower could exist inside a dank, mildewy dungeon that is. They've crept past several passageways, taking back staircases and sprinting past open halls where they risk being seen. Regina follows Hook, not altogether certain he knows where he's headed, but out of necessity and lack of any other promising plans. Finally, as they round another corner and find a set of stairs, curiosity gets the best of her.

"Tell me how you know about these shoes," Regina says, sneaking next to Hook as quietly as possible up their fourth or fifth staircase. Her legs hurt and she's breathing hard and she lost count of the stairs two staircases ago. Hook suggested before that she teleport them to their destination, but Regina is all too aware of Rumpelstiltskin's propensity for sensing magic in his home. Especially her magic.

"I happened to overhear a conversation between your sister and the Crocodile about traveling the realms while I was stuck in one of her cells."

Regina frowns, pokes her head quickly around a corner and looks back at Hook. "And how did you manage to get 'stuck in one of her cells' in the first place?"

"I was," he hesitates, pausing his climb and glancing back at her for a moment, his expression oddly guilty. "Trying to escape to the Land without Magic with Baelfire and Zelena's monkey."

A great number of protests flit through Regina's mind at that statement, but the first of them to manifest itself in a reaction is outrage. "You tried to go with them? And didn't tell me about it?" She slaps his arm, furious that she, Henry's mother, had been left out of these plans.

Hook jumps away from her, avoiding her reach. "Why would I tell you? The portal was there, the opportunity was there, so I tried to take it, but Rumpelstiltskin stopped me."

Regina has half a mind to zap him into next year. A nice jolt of purple magic would do nicely. But no, he's useful. He can find the portal and take her to Henry and Emma. She breathes deeply, calming herself. "Yes, Rumple did mention that Neal went through to the Land without Magic. But he didn't say why."

"Zelena sent him through months ago with the monkey and several undead creatures, said he was to find her lover and return her."

"But . . ." Why would he agree to go, is what she wanted to ask. But Regina knows the answer already, she'd heard Neal talking about wanting to find a way back, to get back to Emma and his son. No, Emma's son. Regina's son. And now there are undead creatures doing who knows what to that world and her son is in grave danger. All because of that idiot Neal and Regina's idiot sister. Damn them both.

"And now that you know about this portal, you found me and brought me along because . .?" She trails off, wondering why he wouldn't abandon her again and sail off towards the Land without Magic and reunite himself with his fantasy family. Her stomach knots tighten.

"Like I said before, you're the only one with enough magic to operate it, of course, and now you have an interest in returning to that world for your son, isn't that so?"

Regina's mouth forms an 'O'. Of course. The pirate has no magic and in order to use the slippers, like the Hatter's hat, one must have a strong power source. "Yes, I see how I can be of use to you now," she grits out, wanting to toss him back down the stairs they just ascended.

It wasn't easy letting go of Henry, placing him into Emma's anxious but capable hands and hoping for the best for the boy she raised from a baby. And now Zelena had ruined everything. "But damn them all for ruining my son's perfectly happy memories. This is all Zelena's doing, I know it. But why?"

"I don't know, love. All I know is that we can get to the portal and find our way back."

Regina scowls at him, her fingers tingling with magic. "And why shouldn't I bind you up right here, get the shoes, hop in the portal and leave you for monkey bait?"

Hook looks affronted and she already knows the answer, but it is nice to threaten him a little. "Your majesty, I'm shocked. You would betray the man who freed you from your cell, the man who only has the noblest intentions for your family at heart?"

"I certainly would. And noble intentions,  _pah!_  Don't be ridiculous. Why should I take you with me?"

"I'm a wonderful travel guide. And I know my way around that world, more than just Storybrooke, Maine, I'll have you know. Which is more than you can say. You sent them to New York, correct?"

Regina nods as she thinks about it, knowing full well that he's a backstabbing opportunist with eyes solely on Emma Swan, but it can't hurt to have a partner in this quest. She can always ditch him later if need be.

"I've been there once before, and I can find my way there again," the pirate says smugly, his dark eyes mocking her as they continue up the stairs.

Regina pauses, thinking back to something Hook said before. "And you said someone is holding your ship over your head?"

"Right," he says sadly, expression falling out of its smug mask for the first time in their conversation. "Zelena has it and apparently I'm to help bring back her lover, in the same way Baelfire was supposed to. And then I can have my ship back."

"So you're not coming only for Emma then?"

He shrugs. "Two birds with one stone, right?"

Conniving bastard. "Fine, Hook. Let's do this."

* * *

"We need a distraction," Regina whispers, eyes roving around the empty hallway. They've made it to the uppermost floor, the most likely location of Zelena's sleeping quarters. There's no one around and they haven't seen a soul on their journey from the dungeons to the top floor, which is strange, considering that this is supposed to be one of the most impenetrable castles in the Enchanted Forest. Perhaps the Dark One has lost his edge.

"Well, you have magic and I don't, so I'll get the shoes and you be the distraction," Hook replies, shaking his shiny hand towards the forebodingly empty hallway.

"No," Regina says, narrowing her eyes. "We'll need my magic to lay hands on the shoes, if I know my sister. So I'll get the shoes and you can be the distraction."

"You don't know your sister. And you'll leave without me," Hook accuses from much too close to Regina's face, his breath reeking of rum and the unwashed smell of a prisoner.

"I won't," Regina protests.

"How do I know that?"

"You'll have to trust me."

"I don't trust you," Hook accuses.

"Then it seems we're at an impasse."

"Indeed. It seems that we are."

"Well then," Regina says after a moment of pondering. This idiot is going to get them both caught. "New plan, since we lack trust in our new partnership. We'll take the shoes together, dealing with any obstacles that come our way."

Hook considers it for a brief moment and nods his head. "Deal."

Only, there are no obstacles or people or monkeys or green witches to distract or evade as they scour the castle, searching for Zelena's chambers. And after opening perhaps five or six doors on this floor, Hook pushes a door open, its creaking protest loud enough to wake the dead. Regina winces at the sound, whipping her head around, expecting the Dark One to pop up at any moment, ready to giggle in her ear. But nothing happens. Instead, Hook peers inside and then whispers to Regina, motioning her over to his side of the hall.

"There," he points inside the room. And sure enough, a shining sparkle glints at them from beneath the bed. Almost hidden, but almost in plain sight. It seems . . . too easy, Regina thinks. Moving towards the bed, she treads carefully, ready for any booby traps that may be waiting for them. Certainly Zelena would have protected her only means of traveling the worlds better than this. Regina bends down, fully expecting to be zapped when she lays hands on the shoes, but nothing happens. Standing up, she makes eye contact with Hook, the shoes heavier than she expected.

"Well, here they are." Hook nods, swallowing thickly, as if he also expects a booby trap to befall them any second. This is it, then.

"When we go through, my magic won't work the same, if at all."

"Right, but we will be able to get back, won't we?"

"Hopefully I'll have enough magic to open it again. Or Emma will."

"She's powerful enough for this?"

"In Storybrooke, perhaps. But I'm not sure what happened to the town in our absence."

"Well, let's give it a go then, shall we?"

"Would you like a costume change before we depart?" She looks him up and down, eyeing mainly the smelly black leather he refuses to part with. He shakes his head.

"I'm fine."

"Suit yourself," she shrugs before waving a hand through the air and submersing herself in purple smoke. When it clears, Regina emerges in a billowy white shirt, brown leather pants and functional sturdy boots. A leather bag finishes off the look, filled with a few necessary supplies.

"Nice," Hook comments, appraising her and making her feel just the slightest bit like she needs a shower, as if he's just pictured her without any clothes on.

Regina takes a breath and feels her magic surge through her veins, activating the shoes by clicking the heels together. An obligatory roll of her eyes because how cliché, she thinks. When the shoes begin to glow and Regina feels the same pull Hatter's top hat gave to her inner being, she widens her eyes at Hook and nods down at her arms. She is just about to leave this world without him when Hook finally gets the picture and grasps her free arm. The room ascends around them, spinning violently away, or is it them spinning violently around in the room? It's difficult to tell at this point because Regina thinks she might be sick.

Either way, just before her ears squeeze together painfully as if she's gone too deep in a swimming pool, Regina is almost certain she glimpses a flash of green and a wicked smile.

* * *

 

The silver shoes, still gripped tightly in her hands, land them at the soggy, smelly bottom of the wishing well.

Just inside the Storybrooke border, Regina's magic is at half-power, and being stuck inside the wishing well, she has to resort to a powerful levitation spell that won't work properly, especially with two people's weights to lift. Finally at the lip of the well, Hook pulls himself up and over the moss covered bricks first, clambering over the side and falling unceremoniously to the ground with a thump. He stands up, takes his time brushing himself off, while Regina clings to the slippery stones, seconds away from plummeting back down to the bottom, when he finally reaches back down to pull her out.

"Thanks," she bites sarcastically, shaking out her soggy boots and taking in the wooded area around them; it seems to be unchanged from the last time she visited this place, back when Emma and Snow returned from the Enchanted Forest and she made a decision to do the right thing, to let her two archenemies live. And now they might be two of her only friends in this world. In either world. But there's no time to think about that. The town is at least a mile to the north and it will be the real determining factor as to how much the world has morphed since they were last here.

Fifteen minutes later, without encountering anything alive, dead, or undead, Regina and Hook take their first steps into Storybrooke near the harbor and not far from Main Street. But the differences in only nine or ten months are staggering.

"What happened?" Hook asks, eyes wide as he takes in the town. "It looks like it's been years, not months."

And indeed nature, somehow, has taken charge of the town, weeds growing at least four feet high, moss and ivy climbing every building, and young trees sprouting up through cracks in the middle of previously paved and neatly kept streets.

"How can this be? I thought the town had ceased to exist. There is supposed to be nothing here."

"I was wrong about several things, it seems. That there were no more portals, that Storybrooke was gone. Everything is as we left it, rotting away. Magic must have done it somehow," Regina says quietly. "Or the lack of it." Her town, in shambles. But Hook has no connection to it and short of wonderment, cares little about what has happened.

"Well, what's next then? Travel by land or sea?"

"By the looks of these roads, sea might be our best chance of getting to New York quickly."

"I agree, your majesty," he turns towards the harbor, gazing out at the multitude of sailboats, fishing boats and leisure yachts scattered in the water, many of them in varying states of rapid disrepair. His experienced pirate eyes rove over all of them, ready for plunder and searching for the most viable.

"You find a suitable vessel for our journey, and I'll be right back. Fifteen minutes."

"Where are you going?"

"To my house for a moment. I'd like to check on something."

"Of course," he says cheerily, heading towards the docks.

* * *

 

The journey to 108 Mifflin street is a strange one.

From the docks, she turns her back on Hook, hoping for once that he will do as she asks and wait for her. That he'll find a useful boat or ship or whatever is floating out there in the harbor, stock it with whatever he can find and just wait.

There's still magic in the town, if only just a little. It crackles in such infinitesimal amounts that she's not sure if it's even present, but the sparks of static electricity every now and then tell her that yes indeed, there are remnants. But those remnants aren't enough to allow her teleportation, so Regina, former evil queen and in the prime of her magic abilities will have to settle for walking.

Onto Main Street, she spots Granny's diner down the block, in as much disrepair as the rest of the street, and the next street down is the town square, clock tower and all. One more street is Mifflin and finally, Regina spots the mansion, the landscape so overgrown it makes her fingers itch. But nothing is as bad as the apple tree around the side of the house. The apple tree her father gave her.

It sits, dead, shriveled up, fruitless. There's no fruit whatsoever on it, the bark is grey and falling off, and some of the roots have begun to un-root themselves. And the leaves, well, there are no leaves. It reminds her of the first of her shiny red apples she found that had rotted to the core, back when Emma first arrived in Storybrooke, back when Emma had dared to take a chain saw to her most prized possession, to the only living thing besides Henry she had ever put any of her love into. Back when her curse was still destined and doomed to be broken by the Savior. Back when she was exposed for what she was, rotten and rotting and terrible.

There's no time to think about that. If she stands and looks at her tree for another minute, Regina knows she'll start crying and crying is not part of her schedule for today.

The front door is unlocked and the handle creaks, but not as loudly as the door when she opens it. Everything is just as she left it, except for the grime coating her previously impeccable floors and the mold and ivy encroaching upon the ceilings and walls. Regina sets her mouth, a grim line across her face.

The stairs look safe enough, and she steps up them quickly, taking a right at the landing into Henry's room. And suddenly Regina realizes that her apple tree was not the worst part of seeing her town in disrepair. Not even close.

It's Henry's room, and it's not even terribly out of shape. Dust, mainly, is the only difference. But just seeing his unmade bed, the blue comforter disheveled as if he'd just thrown it back and hopped onto the floor, ready to start another top secret operation for the day. It hurts so badly she momentarily loses her breath.

Finally, things had been getting better with Henry, especially after saving the town from the trigger and then helping to rescue Henry from Neverland. Getting better only to be ripped away again by Pan's curse.

Regina settles herself, focuses and begins searching. But it doesn't take long.

Just under the bed covers lies the book. Once Upon a Time, it reads, and it feels heavy in her hands, full of everything that went wrong and everything that went right. And it has many pages yet to be written.

That is, if she and Hook can make it to New York without getting eaten by the undead or killed by a hurricane.

Her brisk walk back to the docks becomes a jog when the pitted feeling of something very wrong settles in her stomach, having nothing at all to do with the apple tree or Henry's room or Storybrooke at all. At least the book is secured in her bag. She looks around, her feet clomping onto the wooden slats of the boardwalk. And all at once Regina realizes the things that have indeed gone very wrong.

There are no seagulls here at the harbor. In fact, there haven't been any birds anywhere. It's eerie really, and only made worse by the fact that she feels utterly alone here. Not to mention the fact that Hook doesn't seem to be anywhere around. Regina hasn't forgotten about how the bastard slapped that cuff on her before Neverland and took away her magic, betraying her at the drop of a hat.

She should've known he would do it again.

Just being down here by the docks with the fish and the smell of the sea makes her sick. The memories of the shock, of having given up hope that anyone would try to find her, holding out until the end, not letting Greg and Tamara have any satisfaction. The taste of that electricity and the wave of nausea that accompanies the memory, Regina has to bite back down because there are more pressing matters at hand. The main one of those matters is that a ship, a boat, something that floats is moving along slowly out of the harbor.

No! Bastard!

The boards creak under her feet again, loud against the silence and the lapping of water against the pylons as she clomps to the edge of the pier. The sun is in her eyes, but she can just make out the silhouette of a man dressed in black, hauling at a sailboat's ropes, a big one with double sails and a small cabin.

He waves at her, hook glinting in the light, and all Regina can do is scowl, helplessness washing over her.

"Goodbye, your majesty! I'll see you when I return with Swan and the boy!" His voice is fading away but Regina can just make out what he says.

Well, good luck to him then, getting back to the Enchanted Forest without these shoes. She pats her bag confidently and then pauses. No.

She all but rips the bag open. There's the book. There's her meager supplies for the journey, a canteen, a parcel of dried meats and fruits. No shoes.

Bastard. Bastard!

Regina's hands go to her hair, wanting nothing more than to pull it out and scream and scream and shoot as much magic as her body can exert towards that pirate and his stolen ship and stolen slippers. How did he manage to steal them? When did he have the chance?

Mind racing, Regina knows now that she has two options. Wait here for Hook to return with Emma and Henry or try and make it to New York before him, find Emma and Henry, convince them that she is who she says, and then take the shoes back from Hook. And maybe kill him while she's at it.

It won't do her any good to sit around and wait here in this empty, dead town, she decides. So the task at hand is to find a car that will start with enough gas to make it to New York, and then somehow find her way to the city itself without getting lost and before the infuriating Captain beats her there.

No problem, she thinks without much enthusiasm and optimism.


	19. From New York to Storybrooke

**April 4 2013 - Land without Magic**

"Wow," Henry says, letting out a low whistle and pulling on the straps of his backpack. We're standing next to the boat on the docks, and it's bigger up close, maybe 50 feet long, white hull with a blue stripe and what looks like two masts, neither of which have their sails unfurled.

Finally Hook perks up. He sets to work, and even with that hook he's deft and efficient, making quick work of the ropes keeping the boat tied to the dock.

"That's right, lad," he says, glancing back at the kid and motioning with his head for the rest of us to get on board. "This magnificent craft is what's known as a masthead sloop."

"A sloop?" Henry says skeptically. And the kid's right about that. Sloop sounds like poop. And poop does not make for a cool sounding boat. "Aye. It's a vessel with one mast and two sails."

"And you can drive this thing?" Henry, like me, seems to have a hard time believing that one man could sail this bad boy all the way here from Maine. I hold my hand out for you, your grip is firm, but your skin is soft. And I hoist you up and into the boat. We stand there together, watching as Hook finishes up releasing us from the dock.

"I can. This type of vessel is made for sailors like myself. Loners, the bravest of the brave, those who can face danger in the form of typhoons and gales and maelstroms."

I can't help it. I gag out loud, laughing over the side of the boat at Hook's ridiculous speech. Seriously? Hook glares at me while he hoists the kid over the side and pushes the boat away, hopping up as it drifts away from the dock.

And now that we're all on board and the boat is floating slowly away from the ferry station, I breathe a sigh of relief and my hands grip the wire barrier along the side. You're standing next to me still, watching the almost empty city drift by us as we head northeast.

"This one time," I say, not looking at you, watching instead the seagulls, going after a movement in the water. "Before all of this, obviously, when I lived in Boston, I dated this guy who loved to deep sea fish. He took me with him on a chartered boat early in the morning, and it was rough. Really, really rough."

"You got sick?"

I nod. "Bad sick. Threw up like three times over the side of the boat and laid around inside the cabin for most of the trip. It was the worst five hours of my life."

"Worse than labor?" You ask, quirking a sideways smile at me.

"Definitely worse. That was pretty fast. The kid was ready to pop out."

A raised eyebrow and a laugh reward me, and I can't help but smile with you.

"Do you think you'll get sick this time?"

I shrug. "I hope not. This boat's bigger and looks a little sturdier. Plus I brought some motion sickness pills I had stored away and never had a chance to use before."

"That's handy," you say, turning around now to watch Hook pull on various ropes and make knots and suddenly a sail springs forward, filling with the light breeze. Another few ties and Hook pulls forward another sail, this one not as big as the first, but it also fills with air. We turn downwind and the boat propels forward, coasting along in the smooth water, the only sound is the boat lightly slapping against it.

"Need any help?" I call out to him, wondering how the hell he can stand being out in this glaring mid-morning sun with all that leather. It's got to smell so bad under there by now. Makes me feel a little green thinking about it.

"No," he calls out, finishing up a knot and taking his place down in a sort of pit that houses the steering wheel, looking perfectly at home and happy as a clam. For once. "However, if the boy would like to stay on deck, I'll teach him the honorable art of sailing."

"Yeah!" Henry cries, hopping down into the pit with the pirate, and I look at you, eyebrow raised.

"Before long, we'll have a pirate for a son."

"I'm starting to realize that as well."

"Want to go look around the cabin?" I ask, inclining my head to the small door leading to steps in front of the steering pit. You nod and lead the way, but before we duck our heads to step inside, Hook calls out to us.

"Everything is fair game inside, but please don't open the storage closet on your right."

"Why not?" I ask, like any kid who grew up without really growing out of childish tendencies: having a boundary is like an enticing invitation.

"It's a long story. Just don't open it, love."

I ignore that last term of endearment and we head down into our living quarters for the next day or so.

The inside is big. Bigger than I thought it would be, at least. Down a couple of steps and into the cabin I spot beds on either side of us, the one on the left is biggest. In my head I call dibs on it because it can fit two people.

"Smells like fish," you say, and although I can't see your face, I know you're wrinkling your nose and a smile naturally spreads across my face.

"He had to survive somehow on the way down here I guess."

"Would've been easier if the bastard had simply waited for me. I had supplies," you say bitterly. I nod my head, still looking around inside as we move past doors on both our right and left sides. If the one on the right is the storage closet like Hook said, then the other is probably the bathroom. I reach out and pull the door open.

"Ugh," you gag behind me, taking a step back. "Worse than fish. Close it, close it!"

You're right, it smells awful. That'll need to be cleaned before we can use it. I shut the door and keep walking. Another step down takes us to the 'galley' as I'm sure Hook will make us call it, but I'm going to say kitchen to spite him, and a desk with numerous radios and what looks like navigational equipment on the right.

"You know," you say, running a finger along a windowsill as if you're checking for dust. You probably are. "Hook made a deal with Zelena that if he brought Glinda back, and Neal was an added bonus, that she would give him the Jolly Roger back."

"Really?" I say, raising an eyebrow. I didn't even know he had lost the ship. "That bastard. But Glinda's not in this world, is she?"

You shake your head. "She can't be. The second curse would have taken her back to the Enchanted Forest like everyone else."

I frown because this magic shit is confusing and you continue looking around the cabin.

Directly to my left is a short ladder that leads to another bunk above the kitchen. In front of us, there's a roomy seating area, blue cushions on the couches and a built in coffee table in the middle, two more bunks above each couch.

Well, there's plenty of sleeping space, that's for sure. And all the way to the front of the boat, behind a curtain is another sleeping area, this one even bigger than the large bunk in the back.

"I think we found our room," I say, turning back to you and grinning. You raise an eyebrow, peering past me into the hull of the boat.

"Is that right?" Your eyes find their way to my lips and suddenly I'm kissing you. The current between us is as strong as ever, still coursing through me like fire and water all at once.

"Mmm," you pull back, opening your eyes and smiling at me. "Should we go up and assist our Captain?"

I frown, pressing my body into yours. "I'd rather stay down here with you and search for buried treasure."

You roll your eyes. "Emma, if you're going to make ridiculous pirate jokes this entire trip, I'm jumping overboard right now."

"Suit yourself," I shrug and walk past you, pulling my gun from my pants and setting it down on the coffee table, I head back towards the steps. You make it too easy sometimes. "I'll just wait for you to surrender the booty later, then."

"Where's the plank, Miss Swan, please? Put me out of my misery."

I laugh, not bothering to look at your smug face because you're snarky, that's for sure. But I wouldn't trade your mostly good-humored banter for the world. And if I thought I heard something from the storage closet across from the bathroom, I ignored it. There can't be anything in there. Right?

On the stairs, I spot what looks like a book wedged in between a small rail near the stairs, and I grab it on a whim, heading up the stairs and back out into the sunshine. You're right behind me, and we make our way over to the steering area, where the kid is at the wheel and Hook is staring sideways at a map.

"This is a nice boat," I say, clomping around the deck with you in my wake. "Whose do you think it was?" I can almost hear your shrug as well as your footsteps behind me.

"I wondered the same thing. Most of the boats registered in Storybrook were for fishing, not sailing. But this could have been any passerby or newcomer's in the town."

Of course you would know what every boat in Storybrooke was registered for. "Well," I say, flipping leisurely through the manual's pages as I walk, narrowly missing hitting my head on a mast or something horizontal attached to it.

Your firm hand on my lower back guiding me the correct way sends a shiver up my spine. "Thanks," I look back at you with a smile and you nod. "I wonder if Hook knows this boat runs on diesel. Up to 24 knots upwind, this says."

A snort is the response, along with, "I doubt our fearless Captain knows anything at all about internal combustion engines."

There's something about big words and the way they come out of your mouth. A backwards look from me tells you how attractive I find that. "Perhaps you could teach him," you say with a smirk.

"Perhaps not," I say and there we are at the steering area.

There's Henry and the pirate, Henry at the wheel and Hook now with a spyglass, peering off ahead of us, where the city looms on either side. I assume he's reading some of the nautical maps laid out and gently rippling in the breeze.

We're approaching Rikers Island up ahead and I can just see La Guardia around the corner, totally deserted, pock marked with craters and heaps of twisted airplanes littering the runways. The government and CDC tried to confine the zombies to the northeast, but all the airplanes helped them to spread before anyone could get a handle on the situation. So I doubt there are any more large working airports.

I don't like to think about it. It was a bad time. Lots of panic and lots of hiding. I heard in other parts of the country, they tried nuking whole cities to get rid of them. I don't know if it worked.

I'm just glad I have the kid and we're okay and you're here and we're headed somewhere else.

"Hey, kid," I say and Henry hands the controls over to Hook; he sways with the boat and comes over to sit with me on one of the long benches. As Henry leans into me, I think about how warm and comforting he is, and I wonder if he feels the same things I do. You sit across from us on the opposite bench, staring at me and the kid with a look of longing with slightly watery eyes, and I wonder when it was exactly that you became so much softer than you used to be.

It must have been that I was no longer a threat to you and the kid. Back then, back when I first came to Storybrooke, you were like a mama bear, lashing out and viciously protecting your young. But now you're different, with me at least. You've been different with me for a while, probably since before Neverland. Henry catches your look, tilts his head and holds his mouth close to my head. "You know who she is now, don't you?"

I nod, meeting your eyes, feeling myself floating around and around in the depths of brown and chocolate and honey and flecks of gold.

Well, anyway, I want so badly to just tell him everything, to explain it all, hoping he gets it, hoping he'll be okay with everything but I know it's too much, far too much for even a young inquisitive mind like his to comprehend and take in.

Surprising me as much as always, he tilts his head up again and whispers, "There's something going on between you, isn't there?"

I look sharply down at him, eyes darting back and forth between his, searching for the non-acceptance I think I'll find there, but there's none. "Yes," I say quietly. He takes it in stride. Doesn't even blink.

"Is that how you got your memories back? True Love's kiss?"

Frowning, I glance over at you briefly. You're pretending (badly) not to listen. "How do you know about that?"

"It's in the book," he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh," I say and that's all I have to say apparently because he nods understandingly and squeezes me in a hug.

"I'm happy for you," he says. "I like her."

He says nothing more and my heart swells up like it's going to jump out of my chest and flop around on the boat deck, and I'm sure that everyone can hear it soaring, but all we can hear is the water lapping at the sides of the boat.

"So, Hook," I say, calming my voice and pulling out the manual, waving it around with my free hand in front of us. He looks up, eyes hooded and dark, still pissed, I see.

"What's that?"

"It's the owner's manual for this boat. It talks about the boat running on fuel to make us go faster. Know anything about it?"

He frowns, shakes his head. "Something other than the wind? Is this like your cars, or whatever it is you call those contraptions, the carriages that run by themselves?"

I nod.

"Anything that runs without its operator able to see what powers it seems like dark witchcraft and sorcery to me. Don't trust it." He spins the wheel a bit, eyes forward on the endless amount of water stretching before us. The Long Island Sound, and it'll be a good 80 miles or so to Rhode Island.

You scoff, laughing at the pirate. "You're joking aren't you? You, who participated in all sorts of dark sorcery with my mother simply to exact revenge on your Crocodile."

"Yes, yes," Hook says impatiently. "But that was all for a good cause."

"A good cause," I say, sitting up straighter and glaring at him. "And saving my parents isn't a good cause? Stopping the Wicked Witch isn't a good enough reason to use 'dark sorcery' as you call it?"

Hook backtracks, holding both hands up. Well, the one hand and the hooked hand. "That's not what I meant, love. Not at all. It's merely that . . . "

I cut him off, shaking my head and leaning forward, rustling the kid in the process. "No, cut the bullshit, Hook. All you wanted coming here was for me to fall helplessly into your arms. And also to get your ship back. Let's not forget that."

"That's not . . . who told you about that?" His head turns and his eyes fall on you, giving you the death stare he thinks you deserve.

I ignore him and continue talking about the power we have at our fingertips, telling him that this wind is good for now, but if we fall into a lull or even an unfavorable wind, then we should probably check out how much fuel we have and how far it can get us. And judging by the look on his face, it's clear he wants nothing at all to do with this sorcery and is staring again at the map.

Fine, I think, I'll just investigate for myself where the fuel is. It won't hurt for me to check out the other electronic equipment on the boat either. The kid can help with that.

And after what seems like hours later, it must be because my face is a little hot and for sure we'll need to find some sunscreen, I look over to the land, still in sight, that's good, and the sun is just starting to go down. There are still buildings, still civilization without any people. All the people have fled the big cities, mostly fled the coast because that's where the other people lived and it's completely eerie to think about all those empty buildings. Well, empty of life, anyway.

I've been reading through this manual and I might have a pretty good idea as to how to get the engine started if we need it. As for navigation and actually getting us to Maine, well, I suppose we'll have to keep the Captain around for that. Unless I can figure out exactly where we are.

Supposedly we'll be arriving next to Rhode Island soon and then we'll take the Cape Cod Canal the 7 miles through to the Cape Cod Bay. I've driven over the Canal before, but never been through it on a boat. After that it's smooth sailing past Massachusetts and on to New Hampshire through the night. We'll see if we get that far by the morning.

"Listen, Hook," I say and he still doesn't look at me. Instead he looks anywhere else, staring off into the distance like the child he is. Yeah I know he's probably pissed that Regina and I have something going on (if that's what Henry wants to call it, then fine) and he hasn't gotten his way, but still, grow the hell up.

We have a mission to accomplish here. "We're gonna head into the cabin, maybe try to rustle up something to eat. You want anything?"

He shakes his head, still looking down.

The kid leads the way back downstairs, rushing ahead of us, excited to see the rest of the boat.

"Henry, slow down," I scold him, not wanting him to slip and fall overboard. But he charges forward anyway, clambering down the stairs, sounding much like his mother (me) and you and I have to hurry to keep up with him.

It's not until I reach about the middle stair that I remember what Hook said about the closet across from the bathroom. I remember, too, the thumping noises I heard from in there, choosing at the time to ignore them.

Henry, it seems, is unable to resist such temptation.

Shit.

I pick up my pace, hearing him murmuring something about a noise in the closet.

Just as I reach the bottom stair with you hot on my heels, I see him reaching for the closet's doorknob, frown on his face as he tries, probably, to figure out what the hell is making that noise.

"Henry, NO!" I cry, telling my body to dive towards him, to stop him from opening it, but somehow my body disagrees. It chooses that moment to trip over its own feet, and then I'm falling and hitting the wooden floor.

Hard.

I look up, wind completely knocked out of me as a shadow passes over my vision, blocking out the sunlight streaming in from the windows. The next thing I see is the door slamming open and something rushing out to meet my son. It's like a dream. Like an unlucky, fucking nightmare.

No.

It can't be what I think it is. Not here. Not when we've just escaped all of them. Not when I thought we were safe.

But who am I kidding? We'll never be safe.

I'm scrambling to my feet, fully aware of my again throbbing ankle and it's almost like slow motion. The shadow I saw passing over me was you.

You've already vaulted over me when I tripped over myself, and you snatch Henry out of the way just as the hulking, lumbering zombie reaches for him. Its face is cloaked in darkness, but there's no mistaking the definite zombie sounds coming from his mouth.

It stumbles and grasps wildly at the air, turning its crooked feet to line up with you two again. You're holding Henry close to you in the kitchen, protecting him with your body, cornered, no place to go. Lucky for me, this walker is slower than the others, maybe because he's been locked up in a boat closet for who knows how long.

Just as I regain my footing, the zombie heads towards the both of you again, and my gun is on the table behind all of us. It won't do any of us any good now, so I take a chance.

One good push off from the ground, putting most of the weight on my decent foot, and I'm airborne, diving through the air. A solid, sort of squishy mass meets me in my tackle. And tackle it, I do. Jesus, does this thing smell bad or what?

It lands face down on the wood with me on its back, clambering around and growling, trying to throw me off. But thank whoever's listening that it's still sort of out of it because it's like a slow motion zombie. Like the zombies who are just hanging out, the ones who don't realize their brethren are being attacked.

I keep the guy's arms pinned behind his back, like a common criminal instead of an undead dude and look up at you. Your eyes are scanning the cabin, looking for something to help me. A length of rope, coiled and hanging from a hook on the wall catches your eye and you reach for it, tossing it over to me.

I hog tie the guy pretty much and leave him squirming around on the floor as I stand up and dust myself off. What I'll really need is a shower though, because now I smell like death.

Standing up and breathing hard, adrenaline still coursing through me, I look over at you and the kid, who is standing, wrapped up in your arms, looking scared shitless. He turns in your embrace, eyes raising up to your face and shakes his head in wonder.

"You saved me," he says quietly and I can just hear it over the zombie moans. I'm gonna have to take care of him in just a few minutes. Staying quiet, you nod and there might be a tear rolling down your cheek, but I won't say I saw it. If anyone asks, it never happened.

"Why would you do that for me?" he asks in a wonder that only a child can come up with. Your hand tilts his chin up to you and through your watery smile, you tell him. Although I think he could have seen it without your words, written all over your face. Hell, it's been written there since you first laid eyes on him a few days ago.

"Because, Henry, I love you."

My heart, I think, is melting in my chest and when you bend down to kiss his forehead, it only gets worse. I'm not sure it can handle all of the emotion filling it right now. And when your lips make contact with his forehead, his eyes close and a rush of energy originating from you two rushes out in a pulse. Light momentarily fills the cabin and a gust of warm wind ruffles our clothing. My mouth hangs open, even though it shouldn't. I should have thought of this before.

It's something that's happened before. Once with me waking Henry up from an accidental poisoned turnover, once with you and me outside his bedroom, and now with you and the kid.

There it is again.  **Rule #50 - Apparently True Love's kiss can solve anything**. Was that not a rule before? Well, it is now.

Life is a strange circle of events, isn't it?

The footsteps behind me go unacknowledged because it can only be Hook, coming finally to see what all the commotion is about. Nice timing, asshole. But my eyes are on Henry because I know what just happened and when he opens his eyes, he does too.

"Mom?"

The tearful, but so happy sob that erupts from your chest hurts my heart again and you pull him closer, burying your face in his hair. It's what you've been wishing for since you saw me, first to see Henry alive and well and then to get his memories back, to get your son back. Our son.

The one who convinced me of the fairytales in the first place and told me that if I just believed, then everything would be okay. The one who knew deep down that all everyone needed was a savior to make things right. I don't know about that last part, but we'll see.

"Another joyful reunion, I see," comes a scathing voice from behind me. I turn to face him, heart-swelling emotion turning quickly into rage as I point down at the subdued walker.

"What the hell are you thinking, keeping a fucking  _zombie_  in a closet?" I hiss at him, trying to avoid the kid hearing my f bomb. Hook shrugs, rubbing his good hand over his shoulder. The shoulder that was injured the first day we met in Central Park. It makes sense now. Except for the zombie still being here.

"This is the one that bit you?" my voice is incredulous. "Why would you keep it? Why wouldn't you throw him overboard?"

He shakes his head, eyes still heavy with sadness and guilt. "I couldn't. It was part of my deal with Zelena."

"What are you talking about?" Because as far as I know, the only deal he had was that if he brought me and the kid back, he would get his ship returned to him. Wait, there was something else, wasn't there?

"See for yourself. Look who it is," he says, pointing down at the zombie. You and Henry watch as I crouch down next to the nearly dead guy and push up on his shoulder, tilting him to the side so I can see his face.

The face is not the one I was expecting. I don't know what the hell I was expecting, but it wasn't this. Come to think of it though, I should have expected it, I should have known when you told me that he had come over first to look for me that this would happen to him.

My breath catches in a 'No.' and I'm frozen, my hand still on the zombie's filthy shirt, feeling his decaying skin and smelling his foul breath. He snaps his teeth at me, eyes glazed over milky-white, seeing nothing but his next meal in my eyes. It's him, but it's not him. Not anymore.

The chin, the mussed hair, the hands, still in good condition, but his eyes are different, and his voice is that dull, rasping, hungry growl I've come to associate with the zombies. All the rest of his features are there, right in front of me.

The man who gave me everything when I had nothing, the man I thought I'd love forever, the one who I can see in Henry every now and then when he doesn't want to do something I tell him to. The way Henry throws his head back to laugh, mischief twinkling in his eyes. The man who took everything away, leaving me pregnant and alone to take the blame for what he'd done, for what I'd helped him do.

"Mom, who is it?" Henry asks, unable to see the face because I'm squatting in between you and him. I let him go, and he falls back face first to the ground. Standing up, I take a deep breath, struggling to hold back tears that shouldn't be falling for him.

"It's, um . . ." I start, trying not to look at either you or the kid. "It's Neal."

"Neal?" Henry cries, making to rush towards the walker, to do what, I don't know, but you hold him tight in your arms. "What happened to him? How did he turn into one of . . . them?"

I turn to Hook. "You kept him in here the entire time? Even when we were at the apartment, you could have said something." My tone is accusatory, and I'm angry.

I'm angry at myself, angry at this fucking zombie apocalypse, and angry mainly at Hook because Neal was in his closet after all. Arms crossed protectively over his chest, he fills his lungs with air before answering. Pain is written across his face and I know that Neal was important to him too. Is important.

"I couldn't very well say, 'oh by the way, I have an undead Baelfire in the boat. You'll see him soon enough!'"

"It would have been better than this surprise! We could have been bitten!"

Hook shrugs, knowing as well as I do that even if we were bitten, a little bit of magic goes a long way.

"I encountered him in Storybrooke by the docks. While you were off wasting time," he looks at you pointedly and I can almost feel you biting back a retort. "He was with a small group of them who attacked me as I attempted to commandeer this vessel. He must have been there for months. Luckily I recognized him, dispatched the other ones and managed to get him on board."

You scoff disbelievingly from the other side of the cabin. "You mean you were willing to take an undead man with you to New York and not me?"

Hook shrugs again, expression unapologetic. "All's fair in love and war, your majesty."

"Indeed it is," comes your smug reply, and I have to bite back a grin for that one. But this is no time for grinning, or laughing or even fighting. Christ, this has been one roller coaster of emotions all packed into about five minutes.

"Okay, but here's the real question," I say because normally with a zombie I would give him the Rule Number 2 – Double Tap and be done with it. "You must have kept him around for some reason when you could have just put a sword through his head and called it good. You must think something can bring him back, right?"

"That's what I hoped. I thought maybe when I had found you and your boy that we could return to the Enchanted Forest and take him to Rumpelstiltskin."

The  _without Regina_  goes unsaid. Having both Regina and Neal neatly disposed of would have been terribly convenient for him, wouldn't it?

You find a way to get a dig in anyway. "And how, pray tell, did you manage to let him bite you?"

Hook runs a hand over his scruffy chin and looks at the bathroom. "I may have underestimated my need for the head and locked him in there to begin with. When I forgot he was there and had to relieve myself, he escaped and attacked me. That's when I locked him in the closet instead, right before making landfall in New York."

"Great," I say, running a hand through my hair. Ugh, shouldn't have done that. Now my hair smells like rotten skin. But at least there's some hope for Neal. At least he's not completely dead. "So we put him back in the closet and don't open it again, right?"

Everyone nods, especially the kid. I think he's learned his lesson on this one. Don't open weird closets just because they're making noise. Especially if they're making noise.

"Who's steering this boat, by the way?" I ask and Hook glances back up the stairs.

"I put the rudder lock on. Not to worry, love."

Ignoring that, I open the door to the bathroom, which is still pretty stinky and close it again right away. There's a small shower and from what I read in the manual, enough fresh water on board for each of us to have a quick rinse. But first this needs to be cleaned.

"Okay, Hook is gonna wipe down this bathroom. Regina," I look at you, still holding on to Henry and I smile at that. "Think you can manage the food?"

You nod, wrinkling your nose at me as I reach out and pull Hook towards zombie Neal. We heave him to his feet, avoiding his snapping teeth and shove him together back into the closet. "You smell terrible, so yes. Please shower while you're in there."

"I will," I grin and Hook promptly turns and sulks in the corner. "Kid, you want to help your mom out with supper?"

He nods, looking back and forth between the two of us in that wise-beyond-his-years way that he has. We'll need to talk later about everything that's happened and him getting his memories back. He seems to already have a pretty good idea of our relationship, but for right now, I'm glad that everyone is safe and that I get to shower.

Before I can go in the bathroom, Hook is really gonna have to clean it. It smells like zombie and shit. Not a good combo.

"Hook, here's the bathroom, since that's gross and it's your mess. I'll mop the floors out here."

Hook grunts unhappily, but I don't care. Somehow, even through the smells and the wavey motion of this boat, the thought of food makes my mouth water.

It doesn't take long and the boat looks like an actual habitable vessel. And while Hook heads back to the wheel to check our course, I start looking through various maps and more instructions about the diesel engine and GPS systems. You and Henry rummage around in the kitchen for food, coming up with canned tomatoes and dried pasta, still in good condition.


	20. Regina's Journey

_A/N - Hello again! Apologies for the late update as usual. This chapter I went back to as a more in depth look into Regina's side of the story trying to find Emma and Henry. The next chapter (Chapter 21, formerly Chapter 20), if you've been staying current with the story, you've already read. It involves our group's time on the boat on the way to Storybrooke. I felt like this chapter belonged here more than anywhere else. Hope that's not too confusing. Enjoy!_

**_April 1, 2013_ **

**_Land without Magic_ **

The dilapidated pickup coughs through its last breath, sputtering and choking until the car will no longer roll. The breaks squeak and tires crunch over asphalt as it rolls to a stop next to a city line sign. New Haven, Connecticut. Into the city and out of gas.

On the bright side, Regina thinks bitterly, swiping the map up from the passenger seat, New Haven, Connecticut is less than 100 miles from New York City. And if the roads are fairly clear, like they have been so far, and if she can find another car, she might just make it to Storybrooke before the pirate does.

The first leg of the trip had been uneventful: finding a functioning car, getting out of Storybrooke, driving down the mostly deserted road. A few times, she'd had to swerve around abandoned cars and a few bodies on the road. But Regina Mills is no stranger to bodies. No, not when she'd been the reason for so many people going from alive to dead at her hand or order. Sometimes it was necessary, taking lives. Sometimes it wasn't. Regardless, the village with the children causes most of her guilt. The rest is all pushed aside because everything she ever did led her to Henry. But the bodies on the road in this world mean something else.

Yes, these bodies could have previously housed her son and his other mother. These bodies could have been turned undead and then killed again. Above everything else, she can't bear the thought of one of them being Henry or Emma - all because she'd sent them here for a better chance.

The truck had taken its last breaths in the middle of the Connecticut Turnpike. I-95 so far had turned out to be a good decision, it was mostly smooth driving without many problems from Maine, but traveling through cities is risky; because she learned quickly in her travel where the undead like to congregate.

They also seem to be attracted to the sound of cars. Fortunately, though, the undead do not seem to be particularly fast, and every time she encounters them, Regina is able to simply drive past them. But now, her car is broken down, and while there are plenty of empty ones to choose from up ahead and behind, the only issue will be finding one with gas enough to reach Manhattan.

The beginnings of New Haven so far do not look promising. Desolation, abandoned cars, boarded up houses, sparse undead meandering aimlessly about. Perhaps this decision to stay on the interstate was not such a good one after all. If only they didn't look so horrifying with their decaying skin and ripped up clothing, being around them wouldn't be so bad. They are worse here. Much worse.

Dread pools in the pit of her stomach. She can only run for so far. A car, however, is a protective box of aluminum and steel, keeping at bay the rancid dead and allowing her to move faster towards Manhattan. Regina grips the steering wheel, her hands slipping just a little on the leather, sweat leaving its mark behind.

She peers out the windshield and side windows, without letting go of the wheel, not wanting to leave the truck at all. But there is something fortuitous here, despite all the things that have so far gone wrong in her adventure. On both the left and right sides of the road are new car dealerships. No, that's not right, she notices, squinting to see the sign through a few sparse trees. No, one is a used dealership place.

Good, there are hundreds of cars in those parking lots. One of them is sure to have gas in it. Surely. Which one to try first, she wonders, glancing out at the sun. It's still high in the sky, maybe 2 or 3 in the afternoon. What she really doesn't want is to spend another night in a car on the side of the road, terrified that the undead will come knocking on the window, ready to devour her. She watched enough Night of the Living Dead to know all about what they prefer to eat.

But how could all of this have happened? How could the entire would have gone into chaos so quickly? It's as if everyone simply got up and left, just gathered their families together and ran for the hills. Or if they hadn't left, they turned into the undead. Bitten or some other horrible fate.

Enough moping around, she chastises herself and reaches back for the baseball bat she found earlier that morning. There's also a small crow bar and a paring knife of all things. Better than nothing. All artifacts strewn between Maine and Connecticut. All three had dried bloody remnants on them on the side of the road, and she didn't want to think about where that blood had come from. Useful enough items, but what she really needs is a gun. Not that Regina Mills has much experience discharging a firearm at all, but it would still be better than these idiotic, close range weapons.

With a deep breath, Regina pushes the truck door open, stepping out onto the pavement and looking around. With a major interstate, directly in front of and to her right, it's beyond bizarre not seeing car after car and truck after truck whooshing past. This place should be buzzing with activity. The silence is the worst part.

Decision time. Used car place or new car place? More than likely, people have siphoned off most of the fuel of the new cars, or tried to break into them for travel, but maybe not. The only problem is that the dealership is clear on the other side of 6 lanes of traffic and an access road. That's a lot of empty or possibly not empty cars to walk past. The used dealership is much closer. Right, used cars it is. And if none of them work, she'll make her way back to the other side.

Gripping the bat in one hand, she dumps the crow bar in her bag along with the knife and sets off walking, head swiveling side to side, wary of those pesky undead. It would be easy to get cornered amongst all these cars.

She steps over the concrete barrier separating the interstate from the on and off ramp, and walks carefully towards the dealership. The only noises she hears are her own footsteps and light wind through nearby trees. But then there's something else, it is just barely audible, a faint shuffling. So faint, she's almost sure she's imagining it, but then far up ahead, back the direction she came, rounding a corner just now, she can see them.

If only she'd had magic, it would be so simple to stop them, to trip them up or blast them away. But there is no magic here. In Storybrooke it was minimal, only just enough to where she could feel the purple sparks of electricity pooling in her hands. But none here. Just Regina Mills versus the world.

And in this world there is an entire horde of the undead shuffling her way. The shuffling gets fairly louder, and she knows that when they hear her or see her, they will move faster. Moving stealthily now is of the utmost importance. So that's what she does, tiptoes around cars and crosses over the patch of grass separating the dealership from the road. She darts towards the weed ravaged concrete, ducking between cars and stops at one whose door handle opens on the first try. Yes.

Sliding into the driver's seat, her hand immediately moves towards the ignition. No key.

Damn it. Internally groaning, she opens the car door gently, sliding back out and into the sunlight. The undead are getting closer. They are still down the street, but there are enough of them that when they spread out on the road, far too many of them will be right next to these used cars. She has to get inside the building to find some keys.

Not a problem. Gripping the baseball bat, she moves through the lot and towards the building. It's boarded up. Damn it again. But there has to be a way in. Feeling just a little bit hopeless and like she'll have to wait at least an hour somewhere while this crowd of undead moves past her. Regina sighs, but her eyes catch on something further down the building. A piece of plywood pulled and bent forward. Maybe.

Maybe, just maybe it's a door or window and she can get inside. But if it's glass that needs to be broken, there's no way she can do it without being heard.

Okay, Regina thinks moving quickly towards it, she stretches the wood forward and peers inside. Broken glass. Yes.

And it's just wide enough to let her inside. The only problem is, what else wanted so badly to get inside this building? Sweat pools at the small of her back and she bends down, contorting her body to fit through the small space. Her clothing only snags on a few shards of glass, but soon she's inside the room. It's the main show room floor, not that used car places have that nice of showrooms, and this one is no exception. It's dusty and dark, but there is some sunlight coming through windows high on the walls. It seems to be empty and she moves forward, heading for what looks like an office near the center. Glass crunches beneath her feet. Too loud. Frozen, Regina's eyes scan the room, waiting for any signs of movement or life that she needs to be wary of. Nothing happens .

Right, just get several sets of keys, and let's get the hell out of here, she tells herself. The office is empty as well, but there are hundreds of car keys hanging on tiny metal hooks across the wall, all labeled with tags according to their lot number. Perfect. She finds a row far away from the interstate and grabs five sets of keys, taking a few seconds to remember the numbers that go with them. It wouldn't do to get out there and not have any idea which key goes with which car lot number. Another minute and she's back at the broken glass, ready to slip outside.

Her head comes out first, and just as she pulls the rest through, Regina winces at a sharp, slicing pain in her arm. Damned glass. But suddenly the pain is the least of her worries. She hears that familiar shuffling sound. Head and eyes flying up, she can see him.

An undead person is dragging his feet just past the building, not fifteen feet from her. Thankfully he hasn't seen her. Not yet. She forgets about the pain in her arm and shoves her body back through the window and inside the showroom. She can't be seen.

That would attract the attention of all the undead, an entire hoard at her heels would not be the best thing right now. She stands up straight in the showroom, but not for long, sliding her back down the wall until she's seated, leaning up against it. It's best to just wait, she decides. Just wait until they've passed and then grab the car. No sense in causing more trouble than she needs. The blood from her arm trickles down and drips on the floor and Regina rolls her eyes at it, waving her hand over the cut and expecting her healing magic to seal it up. Nothing happens. Oh yes, no magic, she thinks, hating that it doesn't appear and also how dependent she is on it sometimes. But it's so simple to use it, so easy to draw on her anger and need for vengeance against the ones who have done her wrong.

She shakes her head. No, that's not true. She knows it's not. She hasn't drawn on that sort of motivating force in a long time. Not even Zelena cursing Snow and Charming and forcing her hand in traveling to the Land without Magic. What's been driving her is determination and a need to protect the ones she loves. Henry. But he's not the only one she wants to protect, no matter how much she tries to ignore it.

That incessant, infuriating woman. The blonde curls and the big green eyes that despite living through a rough childhood all because of Regina, still manages to see hope in her family. Despite being abandoned and unlucky in love, despite being screwed over so many times, Regina wonders how she made it at all. Emma practically glows with life, with the need to survive. And now, here in this land where survival is unlikely, where more people seem to be undead or just plain dead than alive, Regina feels a responsibility for it. It was Zelena who did it, but Regina sent them both here, thinking they would be happy and safe.

What she needs is to get to Emma and Henry before Hook does, that idiot pirate before he does something stupid and gets them all killed or drowned in his stolen boat. Hook, she thinks venomously, imagining all the different ways she could torture him for leaving her like he did in Storybrooke. Maiming him even worse than he already is, pulling every single one of his dashingly unshaven beard hairs from his devilishly handsome face. Ha. Handsome like an ogre, maybe. Setting his disgusting leather-clad body aflame with a nice, purple fireball would be something too. Oh the joy that would bring.

She smiles at the thoughts and then shakes her head. Drive is one thing, but vengeance is no longer her motive. No, her family is the most important thing. But the need, the crushing desire to beat Hook to Manhattan still lurks beneath the surface, spurring her to restlessness. Why? Why can't she stand the thought of the pirate getting there first? He wants Emma, obviously. But does Emma want him back? Why does she care?

Deep down she knows it's because Emma deserves better. Despite all the chaos in this world and the unlikeliness that Emma and Henry are even still in the city, Regina knows that they are okay, that Emma has taken care of them both. That need to survive.

She wasn't born with that. No, this world imbued her with it. How different their lives could have been if not for the curse. The Charmings' perfect child. She's not so bad, shy, startled and suspicious around new people, like Regina. Cautious of entering into relationships of any sort.

And they've grown to be friends. Working together in Neverland, and before that, Emma time after time coming to her rescue sometimes when she needed it and sometimes when she didn't. But there was all always the need to protect. And now Regina wants to reciprocate. Wants Emma to be alive and help be a mother to her son. To their son.

So maybe it's not all about getting to them before Hook does. Maybe she just wants to see her new family again. Because that's what Emma feels like. Henry certainly, from a baby in diapers to a messy little boy, inquisitive about the world, to a teenager, rebellious and sure that she had lied to him and didn't love him. But Emma had helped with that, helped Henry to see that she wasn't evil. Helped everyone to see that, really. Except Hook. He still sees Regina as a villain, takes one to know one.

So it is about Hook, about him being a villain just like she is, and if any villain is going to get a happy ending, she'd rather it not be him. And she'd rather he not be a father figure to her son. Neal was one thing, but Hook? Absolutely not. Perhaps she just doesn't want him with Emma, doesn't want him trying out True Love's Kiss to return her memories, perhaps the thought of his lips touching hers makes Regina cringe.

They fixed their little family and built something budding and beautiful together, and perhaps I'm getting too sentimental, she thinks, pressing fingers to her temples. Despite the pressure, a thought jumps to the front of her mind. Perhaps it's not just that she doesn't want Emma with the pirate.

Perhaps she wants Emma for herself.

But no, that couldn't happen. Surely that would never happen.

It's a thought too bizarre to think of, too outlandish to ponder and consider, that she could feel that, or that Emma could feel something like that, that either of them might want something more than this platonic, budding friendship.

But maybe. Maybe she does, maybe she will.

Thirty minutes passes. Maybe. It's hard to keep track of short, elapsed time here without watches or clocks or cell phones. It's enough time to find a first aid kit in one of the back offices and patch up the sliced skin down her arm with stinging alcohol and a few butterfly bandages.

First aid kits always remind Regina of all the scraped knees and bruises and banged foreheads Henry had growing up. The worst part was trying to convince Henry to grit his teeth and squeeze her arm as hard as he needed to when she poured peroxide or rubbed an alcohol swab on a scrape.

_"No, Mama. It hurts,"_ he would say.

" _I know, baby, but it will get worse if we don't clean it now."_ His eyes would water with the surety of more pain, but he stayed quiet after that. She would offer her free arm as a distraction.  _"Squeeze as hard as you can. It will make you feel better."_

And so he would, his baby hands gripping the muscles in her arm, pinching only a little. But it helped take his mind off the stinging.

She smiles at the memory, at her boy growing up, being the center of his world for a while, and then wondering where the time went as she blinked and he was grown up.

Surely that's been long enough, Regina thinks, standing up again and heading towards the bent plywood. Head first, she blinks into the sunlight, and hears nothing but silence once again. More careful with her body this time, Regina wriggles through the opening and steps outside, heads quietly for the other end of the lot.

With a quick look behind her at the road, Regina can just see the last stragglers of the herd. Shuffling into the distance. Makes her wonder where they're headed, or if they just aimlessly wander, following each other blindly.

The row of cars she has the keys for are easy enough to find, settled near a grove of trees and weeds and a back road leading somewhere into town. With a hoist of her pack higher onto her shoulder, she approvals the first car, a Honda, and presses the unlock button on the key fob. Nothing.

Not a good sign, she thinks. Battery could be dead. Or it could be the battery on this key fob. It's worth a try, anyway. She reaches out to unlock the door manually with the key and turns it. But as soon as the pulls the door handle open, the alarm starts going off.

BEEP-BEEP BEEP-BEEP BEEP-BEEP

Well, the battery's not dead, at least. But it's as loud as a ambulance siren in this still, silent world.

No!

She might as well should have ran out into the parking lot in the middle of that horde, waving her arms and screaming for assistance in finding the right getaway car. She scrambles into the car and struggles to get the damned key in the ignition. And naturally she would drop the keys in the floorboard.

More scrambling to find it, hand searching blindly for it until finally her fingers find it and she tries again. This time when she looks through the dusty windshield, Regina can see she's attracted some attention with the still screaming alarm. Two undead have emerged from the trees not ten feet from her car, both approaching the drivers side door, which is still open. Their lifeless eyes are set on her.

Finally she gets the key in and turns it. The engine struggles, tries to turn over, but nothing. Her stomach twists. She tries one more time. It won't fire.

To hell with it.

Regina reaches out just as the undead reach the car, notices several more emerging from all sides at all the sound, and slams the door shut. She leaves the baseball bat behind and climbs over the center console, getting briefly stuck on the car's low roof and opening the passenger door. Tumbling out and onto a combination of grass and concrete with a huff. She reaches in her pocket for another key fob, pressing the panic button because they're all mixed up now and she just needs a car, quick.

The third car down starts blinking and screaming for attention. And now the only route open is behind this car and over to the one that hopefully works. For one day, Regina has done far too much scrambling for her taste, but she's uncomfortably close to being cornered.

Rounding the other side of the second car, she sees it. You've got to be kidding. And on April Fool's Day to boot.

Of course it would be a Volkswagen Beetle. What else would it be?

It's a newer model, at least, and not that horrible yellow that Emma thinks is nice on the eyes. This one is black, and that's an improvement in itself. She unlocks the door, which sets the alarm to silent and practically leaps into the car. Smells like cigarettes. Great.

She slams the door shut, and soon the undead figure out where she's gone and start drooling and moaning into her windows. Their terrifying, rotting faces and decaying smells are enough to trigger her gag reflex even through a car window.

A deep breath to steady her nerves and shaky hands and she puts the key smoothly in. Turns it.

The engine turns smoothly over and purrs to life. There's even a little cup holding a flower. How quaint. Naturally she would be saved by a stupid death trap. But she doesn't complain. Instead, she puts the car in reverse and ignores the double thumps that must surely have been a former human with a life and a family, but is now a decaying lump of flesh.

The few undead surrounding her car can't keep up as she steps on the accelerator and peels out of the parking lot, leaving that hell hole far behind. And, she can't believe her luck when she works up enough courage to check the fuel gauge. Full tank of gas.

With any more luck, Regina will make it to the city in about two hours, where she'll probably have to ditch the car and find Emma and Henry on foot. If only her magic worked, she could use a locator spell. But maybe, just maybe, it's written in her destiny to find her family, even without magic. Maybe she has just enough luck left for it, not that she believes in that sort of thing, abstract things like destiny or luck. Henry would, though. Emma might too. And maybe Regina is just starting to believe in good things for herself too.

_A/N - again, you might have already read the next chapter as the former Chapter 20 - feel free to skip on to Chapter 22 if this is the case and you can remember that far back!_


	21. Finally, Storybrooke

_A/N - if A03 has directed you to this chapter as the second most recent update, you might check out Chapter 20 first - I put in another chapter describing Regina's journey to New York. This chapter below you might have already read._

_**Land without Magic – April 4** _

It starts to smell heavenly and you and the kid chat about all kinds of things, mainly the Enchanted Forest and the adventures that await us. You tell him everything you told me and he takes it in stride, knowing how convoluted our family tree is. In fact, he's actually a closer blood relative to Zelena than he is to you, thanks to Rumpelstiltskin, not that blood relations matter more than what you and the kid have because it's something special. And the fact that you've shared all those memories with me is breathtaking.

When it's ready, we sit down to eat at the table, a tiny, strangely brought together family and then . . . I remember Hook. I leave my food, grab a plate and fill it up. He's an asshole douchebag but I can't just let him go hungry. Well, I could, but I won't.

"I'll be right back," I tell both of you, heading back outside.

My boots clomp along the deck, interrupting the smooth sloshing of water against the side of the boat as we cut gently through it. It's completely dark now, and I have to tread carefully around the still unfamiliar surface so that I don't trip over anything and get lost at sea.

But a few short steps and a hop down into the hollowed out area for steering, no idea what it's called, and I'm there. Hook is standing behind the huge wheel; I know he watched me approach, but now he's looking out onto the water, scruffy jaw set in a firm line.

"I brought you a bowl if your'e hungry. It's pretty good."

"I'm sure it is," he says in a low voice, and in the moonlight I can see a glint from where his wooden hand previously was. He's permanently replaced it with his hook now.

I tear my eyes off of it and hand him the bowl; he takes it without another word and I sit down on one of the side benches, craning my neck back to look up at the stars. They're incredible out here, away from the city and distortion of the tall buildings. Not that there's any more light pollution to hurt our view, due to the world ending and all, but there is just something about seeing the stars from the water. It's beautiful.

Hook is still quiet, but I can hear him eating the spaghetti. However unhappy he is to enjoy your food, he's still hungry. Finally I hear him speak.

"I thought something like this might happen, when I saw you both and had a feeling. Dark hair, dark eyes. You have a type, you know," he says, almost accusingly around a forkful of food.

"Look, I'm sorry things didn't . . or couldn't work out between us," I start, ignoring that last and turning my head finally to look at him. But what happened in Neverland was a one time thing. I was . . . conflicted. There was you, then I found out Neal was still alive, and Regina was . . . I don't know. You and I, we're not meant for each other, you know?"

He stops eating, stares at me over the bowl. "You're not sorry at all, love," he says quietly. "And I don't think you should be the one deciding we're not meant for each other."

My head tilts to the side. "I do. I absolutely do. I get to choose who I want to be with, Hook. And I'm sorry, but it's not you."

"You know I'll treat you better than she will. The woman is evil and there are things she can't give you that I can, love."

"That's bullshit," I retort, feeling my face grow hot with anger. I didn't come up here intending to fight with him. But I'll stand my ground. "What, a child? I've got one thanks to her already. And she's changed. You're still a selfish bastard, and she's changed. Maybe you're not looking for revenge against Rumple anymore, but she's not looking for revenge against Mary Margaret either. Anyway, I'm done arguing with you."

"Swan, wait . . ." he says urgently, and I hear the bowl clatter against the deck. "I know I've missed my opportunity. If I ever really had one. I've seen how you two look at each other."

He's right about that. I shrug. I know his lashing out was just a defensive mechanism. I have that same problem sometimes. Hurt before you can get hurt. "It's just, I appreciate you coming all the way here, even if it was partially just to get your ship back, because it means that you care about what happens to me and Henry, and even Neal, just a little."

"Of course I care," Hook says, grasping the wheel with his good hand again. "You've changed me, don't you know that?"

I can only stare at him blankly. How could I have done something like that? Just by kissing him in Neverland?

"For so long, I only wanted revenge against the Crocodile, for taking away my love and my hand and for ruining my life," he starts, jaw clenching, and then he looks back at me. "But when you stepped into the picture, when I first met you in the Enchanted Forest, you challenged me. You set me aflame."

I frown at him, remembering our fight there against Cora. "Hook, you left us there to die in that cell."

He nods. "Aye. Of course, I was working for Cora at that point, and you had tied me to the beanstalk. But at the same time, you had already altered my course."

My head shakes back and forth, but I don't say anything else. "Anyway," Hook says, realizing that I'm not responding the way he wants me to. Why would I? "My gaze shifted from the crocodile. I lost interest in getting my revenge. You helped me realize that it was all in the past and that nothing I did could quell the hurt in my heart."

"Well," I say slowly. "I'm glad I could help you out with that. But you have to know that there won't ever be anything between us."

I need him to know this, definitely, and I need him to understand, because it seems as though he's got quite a thick skull and sometimes refuses to hear and understand the word 'No'.

"I'm starting to realize that," he says and his eyes go back out onto the water.

Finally, I think. Well, at least a mopey Hook is better than a flirtatious and harassing Hook.

I stand up, making it clear that I'm finished with this conversation. "What time would you like one of us to relieve you tonight?"

"There's no need, love," he says, eyes on the purplish-black horizon. "I'll make sure we stay on course."

"Okay," I say, not really believing him. Everyone needs sleep. Especially after the past few days we've had. I climb out of the steering area and head back towards the main cabin. The boat rocks me gently. And after regaining my memories, I remember what it was like on the Jolly Roger on the way to Neverland, back and forth, side to side, always rocking. It took a day or so to get over my sea-sickness then, but this boat doesn't seem to bother me as much. Maybe I'm used to it now.

I can hear your voices from the living area as I step quietly down the stairs. You keep talking, unaware of my presence.

"You've changed so much," I can hear the kid saying. Now that he's got his memories back, he's seeing what I've seen. How different you are from the first time I met you, from that first year, really. Although, even then, you were just a protective mother feeling threatened by a newcomer who you thought wanted to change everything.

"One thing hasn't changed, Henry," you say, and when I peek my head briefly around the corner, I can see you staring intently at him, his chin in your hand like you always do. "And that's the fact that I love you, and I'd do anything to protect you."

He nods, and I feel like I've intruded just a little bit, but at the same time, I want to take you both in my arms and squeeze you until it hurts. Loving people like this does hurt. It feels so good that it hurts. Or it hurts so much that it feels good. I'm not sure which.

I sit down in the cramped stairwell, just out of your line of sight, pull out my leather-bound notebook and jot down a few things. A timeline of sorts so that when I have more time later, I can fill in the details. It's easier now that everything makes sense and I have my memories back. I'll give this to you when the time is right. Your conversation with Henry continues as my pencil scribbles across the paper, and I'm hoping neither of you can hear me.

"But really, Mom," he says, pulling away from your embrace. "You're using magic for good, to heal. I saw you heal Emma this morning at breakfast. "

"You did?" That's a surprise to me too. I thought he was immersed in that storybook. But who am I kidding? He's quite perceptive.

"Of course I did," he says, displaying a raised eyebrow that was certainly inherited from you. But his tone is all me. "I'm a teenager. I notice everything."

"You're an incredible young man, Henry," you say, and I can hear the slightest tremble in your voice. "How brave you've been during this . . ."

"Apocalypse," he fills in for you. And when you laugh once, he reaches up to wipe a tear from your eyes.

"Yes, that. I didn't realize, sending you both here, that the world would end up this way."

"You couldn't have known," he says, squeezing your arm. It's familiar. Oh, I guess I do that sometimes too. "It wasn't so bad. Mom was the brave one. Anyway, it's because of your stepsister, right?"

You nod, and I guess you've been filling him in on what happened over there and why we're going on this adventure. Now's as good a time as any to show myself. I stuff the notebook back into my shirt and stand up. Clearing my throat, my head pokes around the corner and I grin at the two of you.

"Hey, you two," I say, not too brightly because I don't want you both to know I was eavesdropping on that conversation. You raise your eyebrow at me, the exact same expression Henry wore just a few minutes before, and I can detect the question behind your eyes. How did it go with Hook? I send you a tight smile, one that says, I'll tell you later, and I get busy cleaning up the dishes and washing them using the water pump in the sink.

You and Henry keep talking about everything that happened, and when you mention Zelena and Glinda, you don't skip a beat, stating matter-of-factly that these two women love each other and it's perfectly all right. Henry doesn't bat an eye. But he's incredibly perceptive. And much too smart for his age. I blame you for that. You're the one who raised him, after all. I just got to share in the memories. My heart reaches out for you, wants to hold you and kiss you and thank you over and over and over for our son.

"So," he says, glancing over at me. "What's going on between the two of you? Is it like Glinda and Zelena?"

Well, that was direct, wasn't it? You glance over at me for a brief moment and I shut off the water, drying my hands on a nearby dishtowel. And for my part, my back is as stiff as a board, not quite ready for him to condemn our relationship and tell us he doesn't approve. Even though he's already said he's happy for me, I can't help worrying. I look to you to answer because I suck at this. Henry looks up at you, expectant expression, but not judgmental.

"Yes, it's like that. Your mother and I discovered that . . ." but he cuts you off, standing up quickly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he says quickly. "All I needed was a yes or no. I don't need to know details." His eyes are wide and makes me want to laugh. "I'm happy for you both, for sure. Because now I have two parents who love me and love each other and we can be a family. And if we can get Neal better, I'll have my dad too."

You give me a look over the kid's head that he thankfully doesn't see. Yeah, well, I know you're not happy about sharing him with yet another parent, but we'll see what happens. Neal, when he's not a zombie, is a pretty good guy. Except for the abandoning me part. But hell, my parents did that too and they aren't such bad people. "But, please, guys, I don't want to hear you at night, or see anything more than kissing or hand holding."

This time I do laugh. It feels like we're getting scolded by our parents on prom night. "Okay, kid, you got it." I step over and give him a kiss on the head.

And then he watches us as we lock gazes with each other. Our gravity attracts us to each other. I can't help it and I guess you can't either. It only takes a brief moment of that and he's grabbed his book and walks out the door. "Okay, then," he calls out, pounding up the steps. "I'm going to get Hook to teach me how to navigate with the stars. Maybe we'll camp out on the deck too."

We laugh together as he leaves and the happiness in my heart is overwhelming. Henry knows, and Hook knows and has agreed, I think, to back off. And now you and I are down here alone.

"So what did Hook say?" you ask, pulling me down next to you on the couch. We sit close together, and you hold your hand still as I trace the lines and crevices in your palms, the faintest electricity humming gently beneath the surface.

"He wasn't happy at first, said he could give me more than you could, that I could never be truly happy with you," I trail off because you've glanced up sharply, eyes burning, and the magic jumps beneath your skin, itching to be let free.

"I'll kill him, that bastard."

"Regina, wait," I say, smiling, because I know you won't really kill him. Well, you might, but I'm hoping you won't. He's steering us in the right direction, and I haven't got a clue how to operate this thing, as my eyes go all bleary every time I try to read the stupid manual. "He came around at the end, when I told him that you were the one I wanted."

"You told him that?"

I nod, and my fingers go from tracing your life-lines and heart-lines to intertwining in yours. We fit together, your long, delicate hands, so soft and smooth, nesting perfectly between my sort of knobbly knuckles, smoothing across my callouses, soothing me. "Regina, I love you," I say slowly, making sure you hear every single syllable in every word. "I want you. Only you."

Your eyes lift from our joined hands and meet mine. God you're beautiful, and vulnerable. And you've been hurt so many times. I hate that you've been hurt. "Say it again," you say, your voice hushed and hoarse.

"I love you," I say firmly. Because I do. I've never loved someone like this. It's fierce and protective and interwoven in some sort of crazy magic that I still can't explain, and you're the mother of my son, and you're perfect for me. I just . . . I really do love you.

You blink, and the look in your eyes tells me that finally, maybe, just maybe you're trusting me, you're taking that leap of faith, you're going to let yourself be loved and love in return. Maybe we'll fly too close to the sun and get burned and have our wings melted off, but it will be worth it. Every single second with you will be worth it.

"I love you too," you say and suddenly your mouth is on mine, pressing into me, connecting the circuit of our magic and making me dizzy with feelings. I want to feel more than just your mouth. I want every single inch of your skin on mine. To be beneath your skin and inside your body and in your mind. I want you in mine. I want us to be one joined person. One joined soul.

And suddenly I realize, that's what we are. A soul, split apart for so long, and finally, finally we've found our mate, our match. I don't know about destiny, but if it exists, maybe this is it. Maybe we chose our way to each other. I pull back, stand up shakily and pull you to your feet. "Let's go to the front," I say with a grin, but you shake your head.

"No?" I ask because you've already got me going. But if you don't want to, we won't.

"We shouldn't. Henry might come back down to sleep soon. We wouldn't want to scar him for the rest of his life."

Okay. Yes, you're right. My heartbeat is gonna have to slow down and I'm gonna have to bring the blood back up from my crotch to my head. No problem.

"Okay," I say with a smile and a yawn escapes me. The sun has already set outside and moonlight filters in through the circular side windows. "But we can sleep together, right?"

"Of course. Are you tired?" you say and I shrug.

"A little. It's been a long couple of days. Are you?"

"Not really," you say quietly, pressing into me again. Your eyes go to the stairs and you think for a moment. "On second thought. . . a few more kisses wouldn't hurt."

You're so cute. I can't get over it. All scared and nervous that our son is going to catch us. I feel almost like a teenager myself, sneaking around, trying not to get caught when everyone around us knows what's going on.

"Are you sure?" I ask because we don't have to do anything. I can wait. My body does not agree with me right now because I'm so turned on anytime I'm near you, but I really can wait.

"Shut up and kiss me," you say, pressing your lips to mine as you wrap your arms around me. There's no better feeling than this. Feeling safe and loved in your arms.

There's a bunk big enough for both of us and a curtain to pull closed. Not that Henry will be back down here for some time, I don't think. I lead the way, not letting go of you until I have to, to tumble both of us back on the bed. It's soft and noiseless, and finally your body presses against mine.

When your breathing grows quiet and our sweat begins to dry in the cool, spring air, I raise my head up, neck tired and stiff, to look into your eyes. They're closed, but you open them when you feel me watching you.

"Yes?"

"You okay?"

You smile at me, smirk really, and nod. "Better than okay, dear."

"Good," I say, returning your smile and reaching across your chest for the golden sand dial. "Do you think we'll make it in time?"

You stare into my eyes as I look up from the magic trinket, unsurety written plainly in them. "We don't have a choice."

"Right," I say, allowing the gold to settle gently against your chest. My lips find their way to the skin and ribs covering your heart and rest there, feeling the thump-thump thump-thump, and I marvel at it. The muscle that pumps all the blood you could ever need throughout your body, used and unused over and over and over throughout your life. And the love this heart can hold. It's mind-boggling.

"What are you thinking about?" I can hear your voice deep in your chest and I look up at you.

"Your heart," I say simply. But maybe I should have been more tactful. You cringe. You and hearts go way back. It's probably not easy thinking about them and their power and their vulnerability. But you need to know how I feel. At every opportunity, you need to know.

"My blackened heart."

"No," I shake my head. "Not blackened. Beautiful. So full and beautiful and overfilling with love."

You're quiet, contemplative, watching me. And after a few minutes of letting your nails trail lightly up and down my back, leaving goosebumps in their wake and nearly putting me to sleep, you speak.

"When we get there, I'm wary of what Zelena has in store for us."

I tilt my head up again, knowing when it's time for a subject change and that now is that time, watching your worried expression. Maybe we can talk about that mushy stuff later. "Why's that?"

"It was too easy, getting away with Zelena's shoes. In fact, I can't seem to get her satisfied smirk out of my head."

I sit up more fully, sliding to the side of your still glistening body and propping my head on my hand. "What are you talking about? She didn't try to stop you?"

"No, she didn't. That's why I'm wary. I think it's a trap."

"Sure sounds like one. So what do we do about it, then?"

"I don't know exactly. But I'd like to get Henry someplace safe while you attempt to break the sleeping curse."

"Attempt to?" That doesn't sound good.

You shrug. "As you know, True Love's kiss can break any curse, so if that's the way you feel for your parents, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Right. No problem," I say. Except that is a problem. I don't know how to feel about my parents. Of course I love them. But they made a choice, way back then. Back when the decision should have been harder, but they took the easy way. They sent me away and let me fend for myself. With no family, with the hope that I would somehow inherently love them and come back to save them. But in my reality, that's not how it works. The only reason I saved Storybrooke in the first place was partially on accident and the other part was because of my son.

But what other choice do we have? I'm the Savior, and I have to use my love to save my parents. Okay, I can do that. It's all about belief. And confidence, I tell myself.

I smile over at you and lean in for one more sleepy kiss. We're both exhausted and your eyes are already halfway closed. I reach out just before drifting off to make sure my clothes are nearby. And that makes me think of Henry.

"You think the kid is gonna sleep under the stars?" I ask, my voice hoarse with tiredness.

"It's nice outside. And there are blankets. It will be like camping," you say so quietly I almost don't hear you. And then all I can hear is your deep, steady breathing.

You're right. The kid is growing up. He'll be okay.

**April 5 2013**

Sunlight filters hot and bright through the small, circular window near our bunk, and I squint my eyes against the light. You feel my movement and sleepily smile, pulling me closer to you. We've been snuggling naked together the entire night, and it's been incredible. There's nothing better than feeling your body against mine, skin to skin. It's safe and good.

But something doesn't feel right.

I disentangle myself from you, and you wake up from the movement, releasing me immediately, perhaps embarrassed that you were caught cuddling in the first place. Funny, you didn't seem embarrassed about it last night at all, clinging to me like a teddy bear. I smirk and swing my legs over the side of the bunk anyway.

Searching around for my clothes, I remember feeling for them last night and uncrumple them from their wadded up ball. "What's wrong?" your raspy voice says from the pillow.

"I'm not sure," I answer, tugging on my boots and glancing back at you. I have to stop what I'm doing to look. Your chest is exposed, the nipples hardening in the morning air and you catch me staring at them, but you don't move to cover yourself.

"See something you like, Miss Swan?"

I narrow my eyes at you. "I certainly do," now my voice comes out raspy, stricken with desire for you, lunging back towards you and capturing your lips in a searing kiss. Damn the morning breath. You hold me close, keeping me down, not wanting me to go.

But I have to see what's happening on the deck. "I've got to go check on Hook and Henry," I say and you nod, eyes wide at my tone.

"You think something happened to them?" you say, almost panicked as you sit up and search around for your own clothes.

"No," I say. "I don't know. I just feel like I missed something."

I leave you to find your clothes and you're not long behind me at that. Walking past the closet with zombie-Neal, I listen for the usual thumping and groaning and hear it. That's good, he's still locked up inside. I clear the steps in three big hops and then I'm out in the early morning sunlight.

But something is definitely not right. The air is cool and still at our backs. There are seagulls still, and I can see land just barely to our left, but when I look up, the sails are slackened on the mast, the ends of their ropes flapping limply in the light breeze. That's strange.

"They should be tight with the wind, shouldn't they?" I hear your voice as you step up beside me, and we both move together around the mast to the back of the boat. The hand squeezing my heart relaxes when I see Henry curled up on the bench, a blanket thrown haphazardly over him. And there's Hook, fast asleep on the opposite bench, an empty bottle rolling around on the floor below them.

"That explains the sails," you say, giving Hook a hard glare. Nice example he's setting for the kid. Well, that's what we get for falling asleep and leaving him out here. But that's probably the least of our worries right now.

"Shit," I say, because if Hook hasn't been steering us in who knows how long, then we could be almost anywhere. At least the land is still over there, though. I climb down into the steering well and give Hook a nudge.

"Mnnh," he grumbles and rolls over to his opposite side. But there's not enough room on the bench for him to do so and he falls unceremoniously onto the fiberglass deck.

"Bloody . . . hell," Hook says as he scrambles up into a sitting position, squinting and rubbing his eyes in the sunlight. Henry wakes up too, his hair sleep-mussed and his eyes groggy.

"Hook, where the hell are we?" I demand, tapping the wheel with my fist. He glances around, sees the land, smiles and looks back up at me.

"We appear to be around two leagues from the mainland, love."

I roll my eyes, and I'm sure you're doing the same. "No, I mean from our destination. We were supposed to get there around right now. And  _that_  doesn't look like Maine." I point over at the land, at the buildings and hotels and houses.

"Well, Swan, I'm not sure at the moment, but give me just a few minutes to gather meself and we'll be right as rain," Hook stumbles, still drunk obviously, back down towards the cabin and the bathroom. Great.

"Okay, then," I say, spotting the map and the manual for the boat's on-board GPS. "Time to learn how to navigate."

"Well, technically, Ma," Henry says matter of factly. "It would have been much easier to navigate by the stars."

"That's quite helpful, kid. Thank you," I answer sarcastically as I flip through the pages. Okay, here's the chapter on activating the GPS locator, if it works, and the chapter about starting the diesel engine. I can do this. By god, I generated power from solar panels and farmed food in an apocalypse-stricken New York. This should be cake.

Damn him. Stupid useless Hook.

An hour later, Henry and I have somehow gotten the engine started after a few misfires and wondering where the ignition is and all that. And then we're humming along at a nice pace along with help from the wind and Hook's formerly neglected sails. And, I can't believe it, but the GPS thing actually works. I guess the satellites are still in orbit up there somehow. I don't know if anyone else knows they're working, or how they're working, but I don't question it.

It works and I'm happy. What I'm not happy about is that due to Hook's little drinking episode last night, beside the fact that my son was with him the whole time, we're now about four hours behind schedule.

Also, that's partially our fault for being below deck all night. Oops. But maybe we can catch back up and make it to Storybrooke with the engine running and the wind at our backs.

Maybe.


	22. Next Stop, Rumple?

**late afternoon, Land without Magic - April 5 2013**

Storybrooke. Wow. The harbor comes into view slowly around an outcropping of trees. It's strange to see it from out here. I've been to the docks plenty of times but only once on a ship, the Jolly Roger, and that short journey from the dock to Neverland didn't leave me much time for sightseeing from the water. Hell, I'm just glad we're here.

After our endlessly fun trip on the boat, we actually made it.

I say fun, and what I really mean is that I did all the navigating with the surprisingly accurate and still functioning GPS. No idea how that still worked, and Hook did a lot of belly-aching and complaining about his hangover. I'm getting sick of him, and quite honestly I'm ready to get rid of his whiny-ass.

Anyway, I turn the controls over to Hook because he claims to know how to park this thing and he expertly, if a little still drunkenly, smashes the side into a thankfully still sturdy dock. It withstands the shock of the impact and we have something to unload on. We make sure all of our meager belongings are together and ready and hop off onto dry land. You know, looking back on this trip and Neverland as well, I don't think I prefer sea travel in any capacity.

Give me a little yellow bug and a map and I think I'm good to go.

In Storybrooke, we clomp from the dock out onto the street, and things are not the way we left them. I'd really like to look around and see what all has fallen into disrepair, but really there's no time to waste here. And besides, the few walkers that strayed from surrounding areas into here, or that were the original undead sent here to infect the world by Zelena, are moving all sluggishly at the edges of town and aren't really aware of us.

It's sad to see this place in such disarray and in this eerie silence because once it was home for you, me and the kid, in our own different ways. But we have to keep going, there's no time to be sentimental. So we skirt around the town and head straight for the woods where the well is waiting.

Turns out, surprise surprise, there is not much magic in this world, this Land without Magic. Or not that we know of, anyway. Storybrooke still has a bit left over from your curse and from Rumple bringing back the magic, but not enough to transport from anywhere inside. We have to go to the very most magical place, to the place Mary Margaret and I popped back out from the Enchanted Forest. That seems like forever ago, but really it was only about a year and a half.

And that was when you really decided to come to our side. I don't want to say the good side necessarily because there's always that grey area between good and evil, and there's always (usually) reasons for people doing what they do. But that was when you took Henry for his word, that he really wanted you to be good, to not use magic. And if you were going to use magic, he wanted you to use it for good, not for revenge. We all wanted that. And you did, you changed your mind and let us come through the portal. This is an important place for us.

After you and I had combined our magic to open up the portal for the wraith, and at that point I really had no clue what I was doing, I just needed to help you and so I did, and after that, I was gone. And it was your opportunity to never bring me back, me and your archenemy, but what would be the fun in that, right? And so, for Henry, and maybe for yourself too, you brought us back.

We look at each other. My lungs fill with air as I breathe deeply, inhaling the crisp Maine air, the spring blossoms and leaves and dirt and just the faintest hint of the ocean back in town. Here we go again, back to the Enchanted Forest. A place I vowed not to ever return to because it sucked and I met Hook and Cora and an ogre and weird food and Mulan and it was just wild. But here we go again. You dig into your bag, rummage around until you've grabbed hold of them and pull them out. The silver slippers, like in the book, not the movie. Something about copyrighting probably.

Fortunately for you, all you have to do is hold them and click them together. No wearing necessary. Not sure they'd fit anyway, because they look pretty tiny. Whoever Zelena's sister back in Oz was, she must have had tiny feet.

"We need to be close to the well for this to work," you say and those are the first words anyone has said since we made landfall.

"Won't the portal open up anywhere?" I ask because that's how the hat worked, and the bean that took Neal to Neverland. You nod.

"Yes, but I'd like for us to end up near water, not in the middle of a forest. That way I can determine where we are."

Well, that makes sense I guess. Sort of. We all huddle around, getting ready for however this is going to feel. We've done magic beans and hat travel, but never travel by shoes.

So here goes nothing, my hands grasping your arms, my pulse racing and my nerves are clenching my stomach all into a twisty-straw. But ready or not, here it comes, and the magic surges through us, hot and coursing, like fire in my bloodstream. You grab the kid and I grab Hook, albeit reluctantly. He has a grip on the bound and gagged zombie-Neal. Stinky guy.

It wouldn't be so bad to leave Hook here, let him sort it out himself with the rest of the zombies. But really, if he wants his ship so badly, he can have it.

One-two-three clicks of the heels together and a swirling wind appears from nowhere, whipping everyone's hair around their eyes and kicking up dust and debris.

The portal opens up, yawning and gaping, swirling with blue and purple magic inside the well. With one look, you stare into my soul, into my very being and ask without words if I'm ready. Henry watches it happen, squeezes your arm and smiles. I know what he's thinking. It's what he's always thinking.

All we have to do is believe.

We'll be fine. We have to be. The look you give him melts me. And with a deep breath, I don't know why, I figure it might be like diving in the water, we jump into the sucking abyss.

For what feels like at least five minutes of compression on my spine and my lungs, and that ride at Disney World that simulates a space shuttle blasting off, the portal stretches on. I took the kid once on his ninth birthday and he dragged me along to every single ride in the park, not caring a bit that I had motion sickness to the max. But no, that would have been your memory of him, wouldn't it? You rode that ride, not me? I'm having a hard time separating my real memories from your reality. Anyway, it feels like that, and just when I'm sure my eyeballs will be forced out of the back of my skull, we land. I say land, as if it was a nice three point landing, but in all honesty, it is more like a crash.

We crash in a heap on what feels like leaves and branches.

There's a splash next to me and I open my eyes. Hook has landed/crashed in a stream close to the still-bound Zombie-Neal. Good, they both needed a bath. It's quiet where we are, except for the rustling of leaves and whispering of wind through the impossibly tall and ancient trees as we stand up, dusting ourselves off, still dressed in the same clothes we departed Storybrooke. But that changes quickly. After checking that I've got all of my limbs intact and the kid is all in one piece, I look over at you and there's something different.

First of all, you landed on your feet.

Then I notice the rest of it: a slight tilt to your chin and your shoulders pull back. Your demeanor has completely changed and I think I know why. My suspicions are confirmed when you disappear in a puff of lilac smoke, reappearing in all black leather and an impossible updo. Granted you're still wearing pants, but they're definitely leather and might as well be painted on. And in the knee-high riding boots, you could still ride a horse or tackle a zombie if you needed to, but I have the feeling you wouldn't need to do those things. Not here.

The Evil Queen. It's the first time I've seen it, and I'm speechless. But no, not Evil, not anymore. Just the Queen.

Yep, I'm definitely speechless. And so turned on. You turn, notice me watching and raise a dark eyebrow. I know you'd like to say something suggestive, maybe even lascivious, but you refrain, because our son is standing right here.

"Mom," Henry says slowly. "Wow."

You smile at him, bending down to his level, which at this point, is not much lower than yours, seeing as how he's started his pubescent ascent into the trees.

"Is it too much?"

The kid shrugs and Hook cuts in.

"You are the Evil Queen, after all, your Majesty," he says, pulling himself out of the mud with a wet squelch. "It's always been a bit overbearing, hasn't it?"

An eye roll is all you grant him, and even if he doesn't see the hurt that passes briefly over your face, I do. I see every crease in your forehead and tilt of your lip. But I'm not the only one. Henry reaches up and squeezes your arm, gazing at you earnestly.

"You're not evil. I know you're not," he says.

"Then why the fancy get up again, love?" Hook asks, crossing his arms, unable as usual to let it go.

"Sometimes, dear Captain," you say haughtily, straightening and turning around. "It is more important to leave a lasting impression and incur a certain standard of eminence. Perhaps you could learn something."

You turn to me, whisking your long coat tail behind you and somehow I'm weak in the knees, just looking at you. Your gaze drops down to my side, and suddenly I'm aware of a weight there. I look down. A longsword, straight and double edged. The hilt, gilded and rubied, secured at my belt. This is . . . a familiar sword.

"Is this . . .?" I raise my head to ask. You nod, smiling tightly at me.

"You have potential magic to protect yourself, but you haven't used it much without me. So I thought you might appreciate a weapon," you pause, looking me up and down with a very familiar disappointed expression. "So much potential."

Anyway. I choose to ignore that. Other than the loaded 9 millimeter still snug in my waistband? Yes, of course I'd love a sword. The last time I tried to use a gun here anyway did not work out well for me. And especially this sword. David's. My dad's.

"Thanks," I say quietly, aware of Hook and Henry standing near us, and trying not to go all googly-eyed. You're incredible, but you mask your emotions quickly, much better than I can, straightening up and eyeing the group.

"Now, we still have time to spare. Let's go visit your parents, shall we?"

In response, Zombie-Neal gives a squirm and a moan. You spare him one glance and then snap your fingers. Your light purple smoke puff engulfs him and he disappears.

"Where'd he go?" I ask, alarmed at how powerful you are here. Henry's eyes widen too at the display. It seems to be even stronger than in Storybrooke when the magic appeared. But there's something weird about the color of your magic. I guess I'll have to ask you about it later.

"To my castle. The dungeons, so that he won't bite anyone else. Although I'm beginning to realize that some people might be better off turned into  _zombies_ ," you say drolly. Normally you wouldn't use the term 'zombies', but I guess when you're referring to Hook and the fact that we might have been better off not saving him, I can't really blame you. I shake my head, internally mainly. No, you were right to save him, and I was right to help you. It was the right thing to do.

No one deserves to die like that.

"Okay then, let's do it," I say, gathering my wits about me again and preparing to be magicked somewhere else. I'm not certain that this is my favorite form of transportation either. I guess I'd take it over travel by sea though, at any rate. Maybe the Wicked Witch will let me try out her broomstick.

Another squeeze, but not as strong as the portal jump, and we've landed again.

The four of us appear suddenly outside an enormous castle. Holy shit. It's real now. There's a real castle in front of me. And this isn't the ruins of a castle I encountered the first time I visited here. No, this castle is quite different. Soaring turrets and impossible spires reaching up to the sky. The walls, somehow are black, maybe onyx or some stone like that, or maybe it's all witchcraft and the color is simply an illusion. I have no idea how you've done it, but this place is incredible.

"So this is it, huh?"

You turn to me, dark, painted eyes questioning. "What do you mean?"

"This castle, this is where my mom grew up, where you . . ."

An eyebrow raises. "Where I what - terrorized her? Ruined her life?"

I shake my head, noting again your hurt expression. "No, I was gonna say the place you helped raise her. The place you lived."

You shrug, almost imperceptibly, letting out a long breath as you gaze up into the shining spires. "I wouldn't call it living, dear. And I certainly wouldn't say that I raised her."

And after that, I don't ask any more questions about that part of your past. You don't seem to want to talk about it anyway. That's okay. There's lots of things in past I'm not ready to talk about either. Maybe someday.

We're inside within two minutes, and I'm right behind you, tugging the kid along as we follow you through the front doors. The way you push them open reminds me of the way you push open every door in your life. With authority and this air about you that screams: I own this. I own you. Get this door out of my way.

I really like it. If we weren't under such a time constraint, I'd ask to be shown around this castle, particularly your chambers, your bed. And including, but not limited to, any torture chambers you might have lurking around. That thought makes me flush.

But I have to recover quickly. We encounter Ruby and Granny almost immediately. Belle's there too, grinning at me and Henry, but keeping her distance from you and Hook, as she tends to do.

"Emma!" Ruby yells, dropping a platter full of food, rolls go tumbling and wine splashes all over the stone floor as she leaps into my arms, hugging the breath from my lungs. Granny is all over Henry, squeezing him and ruffling his hair and more greetings are exchanged. We talk briefly about going up to see Snow and Charming. You've told me already that they're upstairs, safely locked away in one of your chambers.

"Keep him here with you, would you?" I beseech Granny, nodding down to her ever-present, I'm sure, crossbow hanging loosely at her side. She nods succinctly, understanding my meaning and pulls Henry close to her.

"Be right back kid," I say, bending down to kiss him softly on the head. He nods beneath me, looking up with those big brown eyes that remind me now so much of you, inquisitive, wise beyond years, and so full of hope. Hook, without anyone paying him much attention, fades into the background. Good riddance. Maybe he's off to find Zelena to negotiate the return of his ship.

"I love you, Henry. Let's go," you meet my eyes, running a gentle hand under the kid's chin before turning on your booted heel and leading the way, again, out of the front chamber towards a great, spiraling staircase. We climb what feels like two hundred stairs and finally reach the third floor landing where I'm hoping, and my legs are hoping that my parents are located. Not sure why we didn't just appear up there like we did earlier. But I follow anyway, hoping you have a good reason for it. Cardio, remember, involves running, not so much of hauling my ass up and down stairs. That's different.

Or maybe I've just been stuck on a boat for a while, or engulfed in your arms for too long and now I've lost all my hard-won cardiovascular shape.

Oh well.  
-

You push open another door and I step into the room behind you. There they are.

My mind flashes back to a time from my youth. A horrible memory, but I can't stop it.

One of my many foster parents had passed away, one of my favorites actually. One of the good ones. That was rare for me, back then, to have a good family for once. But of course it didn't last. It never did.

Her name was Fran, she was older, maybe in her sixties or so and died from heart disease. A heart attack, to be exact. No one even knew she was at risk. It was sudden, and her husband, a sweet man named Gus, was devastated. And on top of that, he wasn't able to keep foster children anymore, so he sent me back. But not before the funeral.

At the wake, which I never had understood the purpose for . . . Why get one last look at your loved one when you're going to look at them again at the funeral? It's morbid and awful and it traumatized me. Anyway, at the wake, when I walked up, terrified, to the casket and peered my eight-year-old eyes in at my dead foster parent, I thought for sure she would blink her eyes open, sit up and stare at me. I just knew it would happen. But she was still and her skin was grey-ish yellow and she looked like someone had put all the wrong tones of makeup on her face.

She didn't move, but I felt for sure that she would, that her hand would twitch or her lips would slip apart to say something to me. And that's how I feel now, walking into the chamber, rich carpets and beautiful draperies and tapestries adorn the walls, and my parents lie on their backs near each other in the huge bed, arms folded peacefully over their chests. They could be dead, grey-ish yellow and just waiting to twitch, as still as they are.

But I know they're alive, breathing ever so softly beneath that cold skin. And approaching them is like approaching Fran all those years ago. I don't want to do it. I'm terrified that they're dead, or that they will be soon, or I don't know what. But I'm terrified of something.

You sense it, I guess, and slip your hand into mine, the warmth of your skin shocks through me and my head turns to look in your eyes. The browns and golds flecked through them reassure me, and the half-smile playing across your lips lets me know that it's okay. Nothing bad is going to happen.

So we step closer, all the way up to the bed and now that I'm actually near her, I can see something quite different about Mary Margaret. Or Snow, or my mother. I still have a hard time with that sometimes.

A swell in her belly.

A new child, and unbidden thoughts swirl in my brain. Someone they might actually want. Someone they might raise together, here in this castle or some other one, when I free them from their slumber. Someone they won't send off to another world to maybe rescue them someday from a cursed existence.

These emotions rip through me, hot and angry and bitter. You feel it. I know you do because I feel you stiffen next to me, bracing yourself against the coming onslaught. I can see why you hesitated to poof us up here. You were stalling.

"Emma," I hear you whisper and your hand starts to wrap around my waist, trying to pull me close to your side to comfort. But right now I don't want comfort. I want to throw something and I don't want it to be you. So I pull away, stepping towards the nearest dresser because I see a hairbrush there. But before I can reach it and chuck it across the room, something else happens.

The window slams open, shattering against its frame and glass shards scatter over the stone floor and rugs. And suddenly there's a flash of green and black rushing through the opening, gliding to a graceful halt in the center of the room.

What the hell is this?

I can feel pent up magic crackling now, and the taste of it, metallic and gritty on my tongue, tastes exactly like you. It feels like you're getting yourself ready to zap something, building up energy beneath your skin. It tingles and makes my hairs stand on end.

"Why, if it isn't my dearest sister," the person grins, stepping towards you across the window debris and soft carpets. I'm able to see now that I can focus that this woman is most definitely green, and I realize immediately that I'm staring at the infamous Wicked Witch of the West. Zelena. Your half-sister. The child of Cora and Rumpelstiltskin. You've told me all about this on the boat, but seeing it in person is different. This is crazy shit. Stupid, fucking fairytales. I hate them.

"I see the pirate has successfully returned with the Savior. How wonderful."

And speaking of crazy shit. None other than Mr. Gold, or I guess he's Rumpelstiltskin here, himself pops into the room, appearing suddenly next to her, standing quietly. Like a goon in a mobster movie.

"Yes, wonderful," you say angrily, ready to lob a fireball in her direction. The flames grow and crackle in your hand, and I know you're itching to see if she's flammable. "So you  _did_  plan for the two of us to steal the shoes. And you, Rumple, you probably helped with the whole thing."

"All I wanted was my son back," the glittery man says, and I can see for the first time that he's different here. Much more crocodilian, as Hook would say. I guess that's what happens when you get resurrected.

"Now, now, sis," Zelena says drolly, rolling her eyes. "My control over the Dark One has certainly been helpful, but he wants nothing more than to be free of me. And about the shoes. Yes, of course I planned for it; how else would you get to that world? Now, did you happen to find my Glinda in your travels?"

You open your hands in a dismissive way and a line appears between your eyebrows. "Of course not. She's not there."

"Yes, I figured as much, and where do you think she is?" Zelena shakes her head, a thought crossing her mind that seems more important than the last. "Oh, we can talk about that later. I'm a little more concerned with what's happening right now."

She looks at me, her flashing eyes bore into me, examining me and raking over my soul. Jesus. She's like you, but different. More crazy. Not that you're crazy, it's just . . . well, nevermind.

"Have you tried it yet?" she asks me, as if I have any idea what she's talking about. At my blank stare, she clarifies. "True Love's kiss?"

"Not yet," I say tightly, because I was just thinking thoughts that were as far from True Love as it gets. Thoughts about my parents and being left behind,  _again_.

"I'm Zelena, by the way," she says sweetly, as if suddenly remembering her manners. As if she hadn't just cursed my entire family. "Regina's half sister."

"Yes, I'm aware. And you cursed my parents."

"Technically, they cursed themselves. It doesn't work otherwise."

"Whatever."

Her expression mirrors mine now: indifference, anger, intrigue. "So, let's see it, then."

I can sense the danger in the room, the palpable magic swirling around us. Regina's, mine, although it's still quite raw and I'm not sure how to control it, Rumple's, and a different magic too. It's familiar, like seeing a person you're sure you've seen before, but can't possibly have because they've never crossed your path. But the danger means nothing. I'm in your world. This is your castle, and it feels safe with you. So I look down at my parents, angry still at them for moving on with their lives without me, as juvenile as that may be. And now I have to wake them up with True Love's kiss. Shit.

Who should I try first? Moms or Pops? I figure it doesn't really matter, and the closest one to me is Mary Margaret, so I bend down over her, resting my weight on my arms next to her still form. It will be fine. It'll be just like when I woke Henry from his coma.

My lips press to her forehead, and I admit it, I think for a moment that it might work, that being the savior, I might have enough magic in me to overcome my conflicted feelings. But I am wrong.

Nothing happens, no rush of warm magical air, and certainly no waking up of my parents.

"Alas," a cold voice hits my ears from somewhere behind me. "True Love's kiss has failed again."

I straighten, turn to face the three of them, red heat coloring my face. It should have worked. I should have loved them more. A look of concern is etched across your face and when I glance at Zelena, her expression is smug. And then suddenly she grins.

"Here's a question. How ever did you manage to get your memories back?" The question hangs in the air for a moment, where neither of us answer. What could we possibly say? That somehow we realized we loved each other, that we had probably loved each other long before either of us cared to admit? That we shared a kiss that broke a spell and returned you to me? Returned Henry to you.

We share a brief glance but still don't answer. And in that hesitating moment, Zelena grows impatient, snaps her fingers and suddenly Rumple's thin, but deceptively strong hand is wrapped around my throat, squeezing the air from my lungs.

It's quiet and Rumple has frozen me somehow, but I can barely hear it through the pounding of blood through my ears as I try to figure about the best way to channel my magic through Rumple and send him flying, but it's there. Rumple hears it too. Your voice.

It hitches as you whisper, "No." I can't see your face because my eyesight is going a little spotty, but I can feel Rumple's magic surrounding me, preventing me from moving. His shiny face whips over to you and I can barely hear his surprised, delighted gasp.

He sees it. It must be the look on your face, the one you usually reserve for Henry when he's in danger, and now you're using it for me. But I am not Henry. I'm supposed to be your enemy. And somehow I know that Rumple knows, that he senses what's between us now.

But Zelena doesn't. Not yet.

"You don't want to answer," she says, nodding. "That's fine. I'll find out one way or the other. I'll just ask the pirate, hmm?"

Rumple is still squeezing and her voice is getting farther away. I want to squirm, to claw his hands away, but I can't move. It's like I'm caught in a straight-jacket.

"Actually," Zelena says brightly, an idea striking her suddenly, ignoring my surely purple face completely. "I've thought of something better. Surely you have brought your son along, haven't you?"

She doesn't specify which woman Henry belongs to, and I can't see whether she's facing me or you, but I can feel the tension rolling off you. I think it might be the last thing I feel before I pass out.

"Yes, that's what I thought. Where is he, then? Hidden away from me somewhere in the castle?"

She snaps her fingers and suddenly the pressure of Rumple's hand is gone. He's disappeared. I crumple to the carpeted floor, gasping for breath. You're next to me in a second, grabbing my arm and hauling me to my feet. It's instantaneous, the healing, heady magic you send coursing through my skin. I suddenly feel much better, but I know that healing is draining for you, and that you're going to need your strength for whatever Zelena has in store for us.

My hand pulls away, breaking the contact and just as I turn back to Zelena, ready to give her a piece of my mind, Rumple reappears with a pop. And what he has in his grasp is enough to make my blood run cold. No.

Henry.

How he managed to wrangle the kid away from our friends downstairs, I'm not sure. It can't have been that difficult, though. He's the Dark One and they don't have magic. We never should have brought him along. Fuck.

You stiffen next to me, shocked that they've found Henry so easily, thinking probably that you can't trust those people with anything, and you begin summoning your magic to capture Henry back, but Rumple holds his hand out, suppressing you with a simple wave of his hand. He's much too powerful right now. And you've just wasted your energy on me.

"Now then. We have the whole family reunited. New proposal. New stakes. Much higher stakes, I'd say," Zelena says as she stalks over and pats Henry's head. He grimaces, eyes wide and twists away from her hand. Kid's probably freaked out that the Wicked Witch is touching him, not to mention the fact that a glittery Rumpelstiltskin, his grandfather actually, is holding him tightly hostage.

"What about Baelfire? Did you bring him back with you?" Rumple asks, and I can see that he's not holding Henry so tightly. That's good, because otherwise, I would love nothing more than to rip his head off and dropkick it into the castle moat. If there is one.

You grimace. "Yes, but he's . . . not quite himself."

"I know. I saw him in the looking glass", Rumple says, his voice tight. "Perhaps there's still a way to save him."

"Yes, yes," Zelena says dismissively. "There will be time for that later."

You cut in, eyeing Henry, trying to reassure him with a glance, even though you're magically bound. His eyes are wide and his face is pale, but he hasn't said a word. "What great lengths you've gone to to get my son here. More ultimatums?"

"I like to think of it as incentive. High stakes incentive. You've got, what is it?" Zelena says as she walks close to you, ignoring your tiny flinch as she grazes the skin on your chest with her hand. She picks up the time keeper, drops it back down. "Just under three days left? That should be enough time to save your son, too. You two are going to help me whether you like it or not."

A shiny green apple appears from nowhere, floating in midair in front of the kid.

"No!" Your voice is insistent, panicked even, and it spurs me on as I leap forward and reach for Henry.

But with a wave of his hand, Rumple has me bound in shimmering ropes, magically suppressing me again.

"Oh yes," Zelena says smoothly, her gleaming teeth sparkling in the fading light. "Either he takes a bite, or I kill his grandparents here and now."

The kid looks skeptical, but his eyes reveal the fear that something might really happen to Mary Margaret and David if he doesn't do what she says. What other option does he have? He's been in the dream world before, unfortunately, back when Mary Margaret and I first traveled back to this place. And from what I heard, it's not a pleasant place. Damn it, why did we bring him here?

Finally he speaks, and my heart breaks at his expression, his undying belief in people and the differences between good and evil. Truths and honored words versus deceptive and empty promises. He has yet to fully understand the grey area for both sides.

"You promise they'll be all right?"

"I do promise, young man. As long as your mothers agree to help me. Which they will after you take just a tiny bite of that apple."

It happens quickly. And it's happening again, exactly like you told me what happened with you and Mary Margaret and David.

I'm not sure if there are other options here, like killing Zelena and saving my kid from going back into the dream world and figuring out some other way to wake up my parents, or maybe this is the only way. Regardless, I don't like how fast it's happening. I don't like not having a choice. I don't like being stuck here in magical ropes. And when I try to speak, nothing comes out. My voice has been stolen. I want to tell Henry that he doesn't have to do this, I want to tell Zelena that we'll help her anyway, she doesn't have to poison our son. But my voice has been suppressed, and when I look over at you, I can see you have the same problem, struggling against your bonds, eyes bulging and tears running down your cheeks.

But it's so fast. There he goes, reaching out for the apple, grasping it in his hand and before I can even blink or squirm beneath my ropes, it's in his mouth and he's taking a bite. One chew is all he manages before his eyes roll back in his head.

"No!" You sob, breaking the voice suppression finally and it comes out broken and desperate, but you still can't move. And then the kid is on the ground, he hits the stone floor hard, his head falling onto his spread arm and the apple bounces across the floor.

Stupid, fucking thing.

A surge of emotion fills my brain, and all I can see is grey static, all I can hear is my own anger and frustration and helplessness inside my head. Whatever's happening, I can't control it.

BOOM

There's an explosion of some sort from what seems like far away, but when I open my eyes and look around, the room in front of me is a complete mess. Like a bomb has gone off. Rumple has been thrown backwards, by me, I guess, Zelena is against the far wall, coughing in the rubble and you are still standing, staring at me with wide eyes and an open mouth. Wonderment.

That's what your expression tells me right now. But what did I do?

I look around, the bed where my parents lie is still untouched, the kid is untouched. I must have performed some magic then. Some semi-controlled magic if it only affected a few people in the room. Whatever it was, it was too little too late. A waste of potential, just like you said. Or inferred. But now that I'm momentarily free, there's no time to waste.

If there's one thing I'm sure about, it's how much I love my son. And he's lying there on the ground, now stuck in that fiery dreamworld, maybe he'll be able to find Mary-Margaret and David, but he might be alone. And that thought makes my knees weak with fear. I slide across the floor, take his head in my hands and press a kiss to his forehead. Just like before, I think. It has to work. He'll come back like he did before.

Rumple told me once, and I remember his words perfectly: "True Love, Miss Swan. The only magic powerful enough to transcend realms or break any curse." So this has to work. It just has to.

But there's nothing. Again, no rush of warm air, no broken spell. Nothing.

I look up, aghast at Zelena, who is recovering from my explosion of magic. She shakily stands, dusts herself off and smirks down at me.

"Why isn't this working? Why wouldn't True Love's kiss wake him up?" My voice is small, like a helpless child's, raspy from the dust.

"Because," Zelena says, "It's a different sort of spell. Did you think I would let you two go that easily?" she laughs, high pitched and throwing her head back. "No. I needed leverage. "

She looks at Regina, who is no longer struggling against her bonds, somehow my magic outburst made her ropes fall away, and Rumple seems to be unconscious on the floor behind me. "You have nothing else to fight for, Regina, besides this boy. And now here he is, under my spell."

Zelena turns back to me. "Now, there is still an antidote to your parent's and son's sleeping curse. And it just so happens that Glinda is the only one who can conjure it. She is the key."

"How fucking convenient," I growl, standing up to face this wicked, evil woman. How dare she use my son as collateral? "So my kiss wouldn't have worked anyway?"

"You mean for your parents?" she laughs again, shaking her head. "I saw how upset you were that you apparently did not love them enough. But no, of course not. This was all a setup, can't you see that?"

"I do now," I say, feeling pretty stupid. But you did say it would probably be a trap. And here we are.

"I knew it was too good to be true," I hear you mutter from the floor across from me. You've joined me with Henry, and you're cradling his head in your hands.

"Now, let's get started, shall we?" Zelena says. "I will be traveling with you to the next world, and I figure since we're all foreign magic users there, we will need all of our combined magic to be of any use."

"And where might this, 'next world' be?" you say bitterly, still stroking the kid's hair out of his closed eyes. He looks peaceful, but I know that it's anything but in there. We wait for an answer but Zelena only clenches her jaw, staring over at a still unconscious Rumple.

"Right," I join in impatiently, angrily raising my voice. I want to murder this woman, especially now when her defenses, meaning Rumpelstiltskin, are down and she is vulnerable. But that won't save my son and my parents. "You want your True Love? Fine. We'll find her. We've got your stupid shoes and we'll go all through the worlds to find her."

"The problem is," Zelena says, pointing her finger at the barely stirring Rumpelstiltskin. "Dear old dad, here, is holding out on what world she might be in. If Rumple tells us where she is, we will go get her together."

Rumple sits up after a wave of your hand, restoring him to his former state of consciousness, and he shakes his head groggily as he stands. It's strange: I didn't think the Dark One could be so affected by magic. Maybe it's something about light magic. Or all my wasted potential.

"Tell us where she is, you miserable imp," you say coldly. He remains silent, dusting himself off and looking anywhere but the two of us for some time. Finally he speaks.

"I refuse to say anything until my son is returned to normal."

Zelena breathes out in a huff. Her eyes glint dangerously, but she can't force his thoughts. "There is no time for that, Rumple dearest. Now, tell us where she is."

"The deal was," Rumple replies, crossing his arms over his chest. "If Neal brings Glinda back, I relinquish the Dark One's powers. Neal can't bring her back if he doesn't know where she is. Not to mention the fact that he's undead."

"Fine," Zelena rolls her eyes. "You tell me where she is, and I will tell you how to fix your son."

"No, dearie, you fix my son now, and then I tell you where she is."

"No!" Zelena argues. This is ridiculous. I'm just about to blow up again when you beat me to it.

"Oh for the gods' sake!" you yell. "Just tell the woman so we can do her dirty work for her. My son is in danger too."

Rumple crosses his arms. Thinks about it for a moment, and then says it. One word that fills my head with all sorts of crazy thoughts.

"Wonderland."

_A/N - it's about to get mad, completely bonkers for a few more chapters, folks. If you like Wonderland-related stuff, you might be excited about what's in store. As for everyone else, hopefully you stick around for the Emma/Regina bits. Thanks for reading!_


	23. Chapter 23

**April 5 2013**

_"Wonderland."_

  
There's a long silence after Rumple hits us with that one word. That one word means chaos and strange creatures and magic unlike anything we've seen before. I know that you've got history there, with Jefferson and with your mother, but I'm not sure what to expect. The silence, however, says it all. That and your clenched jaw.

"Shit," you say under your breath. Reminds me of my own less-than-posh vocabulary. That should be a new rule, I think, shifting uncomfortably at the entirely wrong time. Bad words and Regina turn me on. Even when they shouldn't.

"What exactly is wrong with Wonderland?" I ask, thinking about how little harm the little cat and flamingos and rabbits could do us in Wonderland. If those things exist there. They probably do.

"It's only the land I exiled my mother to for fifteen years," you say derisively. Not to me, hopefully just in general.

"But she's gone."

"Her legacy will not be," you drawl and I look around at the other faces. Rumple, still a little unsteady on his feet after my too-late explosion stares with wide eyes at me, probably still stunned at what happened I'm sure. Well, he can just get the fuck over it, because maybe I'm more powerful than I thought, but that's not what's important right now. What's important is that we figure out as much as possible about this Wonderland place so that we're prepared when we get there. And when we get there we can hurry the hell up and find this Glinda so she can bring our son and my parents back. Right. No problem.

"Okay then," I shrug, putting on a brave face, because I've fought Cora before, kind of unsuccessfully. And I know you're in all sorts of pain over what happened with her and to her, but this is doable. We should be okay. Together at least, we should be okay. I turn to Rumple and Zelena because she's forced our hand and now we have no other choice. "Let's do it. Let's go find her." 

Rumple clears his throat, straightens his back across from Zelena. "First my son. I want to stay and take care of him."

But Zelena can only laugh, her blazing eyes flash dangerously at him. "Oh, no.  You are going with me to make certain you hold up your end of the bargain."

"Besides," you add, pointing to yourself and then to Rumple. "I've only been to Wonderland once. You are the obvious choice for a guide, no matter how untrustworthy and distasteful you may be."  
  


Rumple shakes his head, ignoring your sass. "I've only visited a few times myself. And certainly not recently. The land has surely changed in any number of ways."

"All the more reason for you to come along," Zelena argues.

"Great," Rumple says glumly, and his shoulders slump with the realization that he has lost. "A real family outing, then. But you're going to tell me how to heal my son."

"Yes, of course," Zelena says impatiently. "The answer lies in Wonderland. Wherever Glinda is, the answers to all of our problems lie."

So that's it. No planning period, no preparation other than Rumple and you summoning us a knapsack of supplies each. I take a quick peek inside. A blanket, small knife, a length of rope, apples of course, and some dried meats. I stuff the small bag I'm already wearing inside of it. Basically it only contains my journal and a couple of pictures I've kept with me since Henry's childhood. Pictures from your memory. And I've still got the sword you magicked for me earlier. My father's sword.   
  
Quickly, because it's our last chance to see him before we set off and try to find Glinda all because Zelena apparently can't reverse this curse on her own, we rush to Henry's side. We've put him on the huge couch nearest the bed, where hopefully he'll be comfortable, as comfortable as he can be in the dreamworld. You tenderly push his hair away from his eyes, and it breaks my heart to see him like this, to see you like this. A squeeze to your free hand and a kiss to Henry's forehead and I stand up. If I stay here any longer I'll cry. And I don't want to do that.

"I love you, kid. We'll be back soon."

You give a watery smile and your own kiss to his forehead. "Whatever happens, Henry, I love you. We both love you," you say softly, so soft I can barely hear it. I can't stand this. Having our family torn apart so soon after we'd only just put it together. It's not fair.

But there's nothing I can do about it except follow Zelena and do what she says. She's got us in a bind and we're going to have to cooperate to get out of it.

So we stand together, waiting to be transported by you and the silver slippers, and I look over at her, wondering if Zelena is really capable of killing my entire family, the family I only just got back, the family I've regained and lost too many times. So I ask her.

"Are you really going to kill my parents . . . my son?"

I watch her face and for the briefest moment, she falters. Is it because she won't actually kill them, or doesn't want to, or is it something else? But then her stony demeanor returns. "If we fail to get Glinda back, they'll never wake up. And neither will your son. And I'll kill _your_ son just for good measure," she nods at Rumple. "Again."

"You're going to destroy everyone's lives because you can't be happy?" you ask in disbelief.

"That's rich, coming from you, Regina," Zelena retorts, looking back and forth between you and Rumple. "I shan't be behaving any worse than I've heard you two have. We've come full circle now, haven't we? The bully become the bullied. How does it feel?"

It's palpable, your energy, your power. I feel it crackling next to me at the mention of what you've done in the Enchanted Forest. How little Zelena understands of it, how much she refuses to know about you and your past. These feelings are brimming through you, ready to fester out at your half-sister. I reach out, place a light hand on your upper arm. Energy passes between us, hot and bubbling with anger, but it dispels within me, and I feel you easing back. There's no need for even a smile to pass between us, because I know you're glad I've stopped you. _This_ is not helping our son. 

"Let's just get on with this. We are wasting time," you say, staring coldly at Zelena.

\-----------------------

Apparently we don't need to transport from the stream this time because we have the shoes and you and Rumple have the magic. Again, it's that thing about how leaving from a place with water will take you to a place near water. And I don't know much about Wonderland besides what Lewis Carroll and Disney told me, which, in my brief time with all these rule breaking fairytale characters, usually the books are pretty accurate. And at any rate, I don't particularly want the unknown of Wonderland mixed with water. So dry land, hopefully, it is.

Anyway, we all huddle together, and I want to look back one more time at Henry, but it will only make me hurt more. Most of us, besides me and you, reluctantly grasp each other when you click the shoes together and call out clearly, yet forebodingly, " _Wonderland!_ "

Here we go again.

It's strange, how one can never really imagine what it feels like to have gone under a steamroller or one of those machines at the garbage dump that compresses all the trash. At least, one can't imagine that until one actually goes through it. And that's sort of what this feels like, like we're a tube of toothpaste being pressed from the bottom up and being squished into a completely different universe. At that one word and that last click of the heels, we're gone with a pop, compressed into almost nothingness for one second, two seconds. It feels like forever of being pressed and pressed and pressed and then suddenly, relief.

I open my eyes.

Another different land.

Wow. This is a feeling I don't think I'll ever get over. A different time and space. You know, I've read a little and saw in TV shows about multiverses and bubble universes and identical alternate realities where photons actually make sense, but it's not something that one can easily wrap their mind around. Especially when travel between these universes or alternate realities or whatever the hell they are is apparently possible. It's just mind-boggling. Or it's just magic. Not really sure about which.

We've landed in a forest of some sort, thank goodness. Much better than sloshing out of a stream or a river or an ocean. Except here the trees seem to be quite different; the plant life in general is different, brighter, more colorful, like everything is on acid maybe, or in a Beatles music video. That is, if Wonderland had known the Beatles.

But it's also obvious that both of the suns are about to set. That's right: two suns. One is huge and red and the other is quite a bit smaller and yellow, more like our sun. I don't know how it works with their gravities affecting each other and what that does to the planets around them, but it must be doing something weird to the oxygen levels because these colors are crazy. The branches above us give way to swirling, fantastic reds and purples, rich blues and purples in the leaves. It's like chlorophyll was never a thing here. The whole canopy is lit up in a fire of colors.

 

"We should make camp," Rumple says, the first one to actually speak in this strange new world, drawing us out of our awestruck detachment. "Explore when it gets light."

"We don't exactly have the time to be sleeping," you say, squeezing your sand dial between your fingers. And you're right. Our son's time is running out. My parents' time is running out. But someone doesn't seem to care about this. His son is relatively safe. A zombie, but safe. A smirk creeps over his scaly face and he crosses his arms.

"Yes, but that's your fault for taking so long, isn't it? And besides, at dark we run the risk of getting completely lost or eaten by something vicious, like the Bandersnatch, for example."

"The Bandersnatch still exists?" you ask, eyes wide with surprise and Rumple shrugs. Uh, wait a second.  


"Perhaps. I couldn't possibly know for certain."

"What the hell is a Bandersnatch?" I ask, feeling stupid because it sounds oddly familiar. 

"A big bad monster. I myself have only heard rumors of its existence. Now, shall we make camp or continue on with this pointless argument?" Rumple asks and you shrug, rolling your eyes because he's probably right too. I guess we do need to be alive in order to find Glinda. And the best way to do that might be to wait until morning. Fine. I'm just starting to get a bad feeling about this place. It's too weird.

So we roll out our blankets, yours and mine close together, and Rumple's and Zelena's a little farther out. "We'll take first watch," I say, stepping across and around everyone's blankets. "Rumple, you can go next in about three hours."

Rumple agrees, grinning slyly at us behind Zelena's back. Oh yeah, I forgot about him realizing there was 'something going on between us', in the words of Henry. If Rumple says anything, we're screwed. That'll be one more thing Zelena can hold over our heads.

"I need to speak with you, Emma," you call out and gesture behind the next couple of trees. Rumple watches with interest and Zelena leans up against a tree on her blanket, closing her eyes and looking sort of anxiously constipated.

"Emma," you say when we get there. God, the way you say my name. It's powerful and heavy and I want to hear it again. You pull me aside. "We've got to do something about your magic."

"What do you mean?" I say and you frown at me, as if I should know.

"You're more powerful than I thought . . . and with no training,"  You look me up and down. "Just . . . inherent talent and so much more potential than I realized. I don't understand it."

And yeah, I can see where you're coming from with that. I've heard about your journey to magic and evil, that you had to really dig down deep into your emotions and past hurt to find it. And with my power, somehow, it's not so difficult to access it. Maybe I feel my emotions strongly. Or maybe I was just born powerful. I don't know. But anyway, I think you're getting better at finding other things besides anger and revenge to focus on for your own magic.

"Really? You think I have _natural talent_?" I say slyly. With an eye roll, you reach out and swat my arm lightly. 

"Not like that, you idiot. But yes, really. You blasted Rumple and Zelena with just your mind, and under magic-suppressing restraints."

My grin drops. I don't even know how I did that. My son was being threatened, you were being threatened. It just . . . exploded out of me. "So what are we going to do about it then?"

"I don't know," you say with a lift of your shoulders. "I'll have to teach you, continue your training from Neverland where we left off."

"So it's possible then?" My hopes lifting at the prospect of learning from you, of continuing our lessons and really getting the hang of this magic stuff. I've seen you do some amazing things with your magic, and we've done some amazing things together with our magic. I'm actually excited about this. "You think I can really learn to do what you do?"

"It won't be easy," you say slowly, seriously. "You'll have to study and learn spells and control. That won't be easy for you, I'll bet." I frown at that, but you smirk good-naturedly and go on. "You have to keep in mind though that things are a little different this time."

  
"Yes, they are. I agree," I say, nodding and smiling because now we're together and we've talked a little about this undercurrent of attraction that's been rifting between us for three years and the tension and the two moms thing and the fairytales and the True Love and the magic and everything is so, so different. That might be the understatement of the year. Of the last several years.

"Okay then," I say. "What's the first lesson?"

\---------------

After an hour and one possibly accidental, long, lingering kiss that only leaves me wanting more later, we head back towards the clearing, where Rumple and Zelena now sit on their respective blankets, eyeing each other warily. They've been talking, perhaps heatedly. I grasp your arm, pulling you back, and we wait just beyond the trees to listen.

You stand close to me, so close I can smell you and feel your warmth. Not that it's cold here, but everything about you makes me feel heated. I meld my body to yours as we rest against the cool tree bark for the brief moments before we're seen again, out of sight and I'm enjoying the simplicity of how you feel against me.

"Can you at least explain how the worlds are lined up?" Zelena asks, sounding frustrated.

Rumple stretches out his legs, leans up against the tree his blanket is laid out next to. He stares up into the dark, colorful tree branches mostly blocking out the star-lit sky above us. Pausing for a moment, he seems to decide on something. "I thought already explained this to you, dearie."

"But you lied to me. You told me that Glinda should be in the Enchanted Forest. Why is she here instead of there? What else did you lie about? Tell me their exact order!"

"Only because you asked so nicely," he says sweetly in his sing-song mocking tone, tilting his head back down to meet Zelena's gaze. "I like to think of them as being large, flat universes, all stacked up neatly next to one another. And there are portals and holes between the worlds, allowing us to travel through them. Tiny little travelers, traipsing through the worlds."

"And they are in a specific order, right?"

Rumple nods. "They are. But it's important mainly for non-magic users. If one did not possess magic or couldn't access their magic for example, they would simply drift into the world next to their own."

He holds up a hand to stop Zelena's next question, already guessing at what it is. She closes her mouth. "From my travels, I believe the order usually goes with the West wind, which is why the cyclone took Glinda and whisked her here. Think of it this way: Oz, then Wonderland. Glinda couldn't control the cyclone and so was taken to the next world. After Wonderland is the Enchanted Forest and then Neverland. Those are all the magical lands lined up next to one another, and the non magical worlds are extensions of the magical worlds, sometimes with connections to several at a time. The Land without Color is an extension of Oz and the Land without Magic is an extension of the Enchanted Forest, with connections to Wonderland and Neverland.  Perhaps this explains why my son ended up back and forth between the Land without Magic and Neverland."

A sharp intake of breath from Zelena and I'm glad we stayed behind the trees. She lets the breath out in a low hiss. Oh boy - another sore spot. "That's another thing I don't understand. I'm your child too. Why him over me? Why couldn't you cultivate me and teach me and love me?"

  
"I did teach you."

Zelena laughs, a bark of laughter that sounds more like an out-loud grimace. "For a short time. And then you turned on me. Why?"

  
"You know why."

  
"I was becoming too powerful," Zelena parrots, mimicking what must have been Rumple's words thirty years ago. "But is that reason enough to sabotage your own flesh and blood?"

"Sometimes preserving one's future family and well-being is more important. I glimpsed into the future and knew what would happen if you and Glinda came into power. I had to try and stop you."

"You only have seeing abilities in your own land. Who fed you information?"

"I have seeing abilities everywhere."

Zelena shakes her head. "It's not possible. Someone lied to you."

Rumple smiles innocently. "Of course not, dearie. I speak only in truths."  
 

Yeah right, I think with an eye roll. If he speaks only in truths then my aunt and uncle are Scar and Simba. Although I probably shouldn't joke about that, because they might be.

Your hair whispers against my cheek as we stand, waiting, listening. But we've heard enough, I think, and hopefully they won't be too upset that we've interrupted their father-daughter talk, especially since it's not really going anywhere. It would be nice, I'm sure, to find out who told Rumpelstiltskin about Glinda and Zelena's supposed future in Oz. I don't know exactly how you feel about her, just anger and disbelief at what she's done to our family and to the Land without Magic, because I feel that too and more. First hand I've felt the effects of her decisions and plots.

But as for you two being half-sisters, I don't know how you feel about that. Your background in family matters is not great, and it looks like hers isn't either. If only you could come to an agreement that both of you have had it tough, hell, that everyone who is some sort of the product of magical beings or True Love has had it pretty rough, then maybe we could all learn to get along with each other. 

 

I don't know how she's going to redeem herself, Zelena, that is, for destroying most of an entire species on Earth with her zombies, but she damn-well better have something up her sleeve.   
  
So we separate, you and I, and walk a few feet apart out from behind the trees, startling only slightly the Dark One and Zelena. And soon, I'm the only one awake as the three of you settle down and try to sleep. I'm watching you breathe gently, in and out, and the frown lines on your forehead are noticeabley lighter now. You're dreaming, not nightmares, just dreams, and I'm hoping they're good dreams. They must be because of your expression. I hope you're dreaming about Storybrooke as it once was when there were good times and Henry would be there and I would be and things would be the way they're supposed to be.   
  
In four hours, like clockwork, Rumple wakes up and takes over the watch. I'm iffy about falling asleep with him watching over us, but he has to keep us safe. Well, he has to keep Zelena safe at least to get Neal back. 

 

But fall asleep I do. And as for my dreams: they're as wild as ever. But they're different here. I'm diving through genies' lamps and spinning wheels, and glass looking balls. There are swords and apples and glowing tridents and roses whose petals are slowly falling off, and magical books and broomsticks and silver slippers and fairies. But none of them have the answer. The answer to a new question.

I need that more than anything. My dream self is searching for the real answer, the way to get through all these problems. But they are still convoluted and confusing and at some point, I fall off of Aladdin's magic carpet and jolt awake. My eyes open, landing directly on Rumple who is smiling at me, at my hand lying quite close to yours, his knowing smile, that grin that could undo me. Could undo both of us. 

How he operates in knowledge and fearmongering, I hate it. But I know that he has to see this through, in order for Zelena to fix his son, to fix Neal. God, Neal. But there's too much loss, too much sadness to think about, and I let myself drift back off, tyring to fill my thoughts of you only, of your lips and that rare smile when it's not sarcastic and biting, when it's a true smile and heartfelt. Those are the ones that made me fall for you.

So I sleep, prepared to take on the new day tomorrow, and this new land, this Wonderland, to find Glinda and learn more from you about magic and to save our son.  

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

 


	24. Chapter 24

It's early and only the first sun has risen, its eerie red light filtering through the leaves of the canopy. My thoughts are far from the sunlight and how visible we might be to curious passersby. 

"This is dangerous," you say breathlessly, and I'm kissing your skin, traveling the expanses from your shoulder to just beneath your ear, and the sounds I'm provoking tell me just how dangerous it is. It won't be long before you're dangerously close to coming. My thoughts are clouded, but then you're pushing against my shoulders, trying to stop me. Finally I realize this and lean back, looking into your equally lust-hazed eyes. 

"I'm serious, Emma." 

"Okay, what are you talking about? What's so dangerous about it?" 

You shake your head, give me that 'you're an idiot' look again. Okay, yes. I realize that we need to find Glinda and fast, that our son's time is running out and that there's not enough time for stuff like this. But five minutes wouldn't have hurt anyone, and to think of how much stress we could have relieved. 

"Zelena can't find out about you. About me and you." 

"I know," I say, brows furrowed. But I've come too far and been through too much shit to worry about what people think about us, much less your estranged half-sister, crazy though she may be. "Why can't it just be easy?"

"If she knows you're my True Love, that I have someone else besides Henry worth fighting for and worrying over, she'll do something to you too." You pause, the gravity of your statement hitting me. But it's the same for me. She's holding my son hostage as well. And if something happened to you? Jesus. 

"She has to think we're both just Henry's mothers. Nothing more." 

I nod, because you're right. We don't need something more hanging over our heads. And we really don't have time on our side.

"Well, well, well," a slippery voice hits our ears from behind the trees somewhere. I almost slip, turning as fast as I do on the mushrooms. The ground is absolutely covered in mushrooms of every size and variety. "How very noble of you, trying to stay apart to save each other, to keep each other from feeling more hardship. How very romantic." 

It's Zelena, of course, hiding behind a tree, stepping out now from behind it and into the clearing. And she's seen everything. Of course she has. Just when we get control of ourselves and manage to stop whatever is happening between us, she sees the end of it. All for nothing. 

  
"I see now that you returned to the Land without Magic for more than just your son, didn't you Regina? Hmm . . .This one's a little different than the last, though isn't she? Although, I can see the similarities. Simple, good hearted. Naive **.** " 

  
You're quiet, and I can feel the fear and anger radiating off of you. I reach over and grab your hand, knowing that together, we can counteract anything she has planned for us. Together, here, we're more powerful than she is. She has Rumple, sure, but he's not here at the moment. So whatever happens, we'll get through it together. We have to, for our son.   
  
When our hands contact, the familiar buzzing rushes through me. It's a connection I think is unique to us, something to do with our shared background and our shared son and our shared power. I don't understand it, but it's powerful. Your fear turns quickly into calm and the feeling flows through me as well. Whether I caused this change or not, I don't know.   
  
"So what?" you say, "What are you going to do now? Try even more to destroy my life now that I have my love and you don't? Now that there's yet another way you can terrorize me?"   
  
Zelena shakes her head, sighing tiredly. "No," she says quietly. "Both of you are important right now. I need you to help me find Glinda. "

But before either of us can speak any more about what to do, before anyone in the clearing can say another word, there's a rustling behind us in the bushes. Something comes flying through the air, headed straight for Zelena's head and I react out of instinct, shooting my hand out and what happens next surprises the hell out of me. 

A burst of light, blueish and blindingly bright explodes from my hand and hits the object before it strikes Zelena's head. It shatters to a thousand little pieces and I can see that it might have once been a cup of some sort, maybe a dish when little specks and pieces of porcelain strike my shoulders and chest.   
  
"What the hell?" I say, and the three of us duck down behind nearby trees, peering out into the strangely colored bush just as something bright and bouncy bursts forward.   
  
"Halloo, hallooo!" the thing says in a mock whisper, waving its arms about and its large, nervous eyes dart back and forth, taking everything in: me, you, Zelena, the trees and everything else in the scene within a matter of seconds. Whatever this thing is, it seems to be maybe a bit crazy, I can see that just from its eyes. It reminds me of Hannibal Lecter from the Silence of the Lambs or maybe of Uncle Albert in Mary Poppins. Sometimes you can just see it in people. Or animals, I guess.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" you say coldly, standing up straight next to me. None of us have fully realized that I just saved Zelena from a conk in the head with my minimally-trained magic, but there are more important things at hand.   
  
The animal, I think it is, because of its long ears and rabbit-like nose, takes a deep bow. The top hat falls off its head, revealing those ears to us and a furry grey head. When it stands back up with the hat in its paws, I can see that its outfit is also bizarre. And why a rabbit creature would be wearing an outfit is beyond me. Purple pinstripes, tightly fitted and torn in several places with an orange silk shirt and a huge bow-tie. It's so strange, but it fits the guy. Or animal. Still not sure.   
  
"I am th' Mad-March Hare, also known as O'Haire, pleased to make yer acquaintance," he says in a thick, what sounds a bit like a Scottish accent, and I'm just guessing that he's a male by his deep voice and what looks like a rabbity goatee around his mouth. The Mad March Hare, huh, I think to myself.

 I guess this really is Wonderland. 

Here's a question though, how the hell do the people in the Land without Magic have so many of the details so right about all of these worlds? How did that happen?

  
"You lot look righ' leery, now don't ye?' 

That's right, crazy eyes, don't you know **Rule #9 Don't trust creepy weird dudes**?   
  
"What is this creature saying?" Zelena says, crossing her arms and glaring at the intruder, although by the looks of its confidence and comfort in this environment, we're the intruders and he's in his element.   
  
"It's some strange accent, I'm not sure," I answer, although I'm not sure why I'm speaking to her, seeing as she's held my son hostage and my parents, and destroyed my world, and would hold you hostage too if you weren't valuable to her.   
  
"No, my wee lasses, no accent. Simply O'Hare. Now listen, we mus' be gettin' ye goin'. It's bound to be dark soon and we wouldn't want any of th' red knaves catchin' you out here all alone an' unprotected, now would we?"  

  
"Knaves?" you ask, not impressed, but whatever they are, if this guy is steering clear of them, then maybe we should too. I've been around zombies enough to know that the locals know what they're talking about. Stick to what you know. And whatever this guy knows, these knaves don't sound like friendly folks.  
  
"Let's at least get off the trail," I say, a hand to your arm and a tiny zap of electricity shoots though me.  
  
"Yes. Best to get out of the cold," another voice, this one higher pitched, less discernible, but definitely chilling hits us from somewhere up above. My head swivels up, eyes searching for the source of it, scanning the branches and leaves for the newest member of our little get-together. A pair of gleaming eyes meets me beyond one thick branch, and they're quickly followed by a face and shoulders swinging gracefully, cat-like out of the tree and silently to the ground before us.

This newcomer squishes onto the mushrooms, making a perfect landing, knees bent, crouched low with one hand touching the ground. And is that . . . a tail? Something seems to be swishing back and forth through the back of the person's pants. Yes, it is a tail, I see as it moves closer. Great, another creepy weird person. Or animal.  
  
"Oi, you," O'Haire calls out. "Ches, O'Ches. How ya been, me bairn?" 

The cat-person smiles, grins really, quite widely with what seems like far too many teeth in its mouth. Strange, yellow eyes, a skin-tight, camouflaged outfit covers the dark skin from neck to ankle. There's no fur on this newcomer, not like on O'Haire, and I'm thinking perhaps that this land is full of half-people, half-animals. Which is great, don't get me wrong, I'm all for furthering the species or whatever, but it's a little different getting used to.   
  
"O'Haire," the silky voice acknowledges the rabbit-man, standing up straight and taking long steps towards us. Those intelligent, searching eyes scan our group, taking everything in in a different way than O'Haire's did, and with this new person, I'm feeling a little more out-of my element, a little more threatened. 

This one seems more dangerous, and the belt with a short sword and a bow slung around the muscular back, complete with a quiver full of arrows tells me this cat-person is a hunter, or a warrior. Depends on what's happening in this land, I guess. 

I lean close to you, my voice as quiet as a summer breeze in your ear and I'm hoping this new person has no miraculously keen sense of hearing. "Should we be worried?"   
  
I feel your shrug and it doesn't make me feel any better. You know as much as I do about this place, I guess. Well, on the other hand, you have actually been here once, back when you lived in the Enchanted Forest the first time. "And is that a male or a female?" I add. 

"Hard to tell," you mutter. "But . . ."  
  
"You two," the newcomer flicks steely, yet somehow golden eyes at us. "Refrain from speaking unless spoken to."   
  
Seriously? I resist the urge to mock salute. I don't exactly like people telling me what to do when I don't even know who they are. If they deserve my respect, okay cool. If not, then you better not talk to me like that.   
  
"Should I ask?" I say, and you nudge me with your arm. 

"No!" you hiss. "It doesn't matter anyway. "   
  
"Okay," I shrug because I guess you're right.  Who cares if this person is male or female. If they want to say their gender, great. If not, well that's cool with me too.   
  
"State your allegiance," the one apparently named Ches demands, with the golden eyes and the weapons.  
  
"Our allegiance," Zelena says, indignantly. "We have no allegiance. We just got here."   
  
The golden eyes scan our group. "No one just _gets_ here," Golden Eyes says, emphasizing the 'gets'.  "Everyone who is here is already here. And everyone who will be here is already here. Except Hatter of course. But he's gone now for many years."   
  
I hear a throat being cleared, and when I turn to look, I see Rumple step forward from the trees and glance almost nervously over at you. You glare at him for what Ches just said, for taking away the Hatter's ability to travel the realms. The destruction of the hat was really a blow to us back then. Ches and O'Hare take defensive stances at his arrival, but no one makes any sudden movements.   
  
"He's with us. And we traveled the same way the Hatter does," you say. "We're from a different world, and we have no allegiance."

"A different world, you say," Ches says quietly, mouth pursing in contemplation. A look is shared between Golden Eyes and O'Hare.   
  
"Did you see them appear?" Ches asks, running a hand over a smooth, dark face. O'Hare shakes his head frantically.   
  
"No, no I didn'. But I did try my best at conkin' them on th' head wi' me tea cup. Oh yes, Ches. Oh yes, I did." 

Ches smiles broadly, with so many teeth so it looks more like a grimace than a smile. Well, will wonders never cease. I knew this one seemed familiar, and I think I've figured it out. I have a feeling who this one is. And yeah, I know it took me a while. Sue me.

  
"Oh! Ches!" I say, because this is fitting together finally. The name and the smile. I think that took me too long to realize. "Like the Cheshire Cat?"   
  
"Yes, of course. But how did you know, if you are 'from here' as you say?" Ches says, narrowing those piercing eyes.   
  
"Familiar with the story is all," I say, knowing after I say it that it won't help in the slightest. Well shit.   
  
There's a brief pause where Ches stares us down, contemplating something and then makes an executive decision.  
  
"I think you had better come with me."   
  
"We don't even know you. We're not going anywhere," I say, because who knows where these folks might take us, who knows what kind of painful death they have in store for us. Ches steps forward and stares us down, pacing back and forth in front of us, exactly like a cat trying to get into someplace it's been locked out.  
  
"What is your business here, then?"   
  
"We're looking for someone. Someone also from a different land."   
  
"And what land is that? If I may be so bold as to ask."   
  
"Oz," Zelena says confidently. And who knows if that could get us in trouble or not.   
  
"Oh yes," Ches says, eyes lighting up at once. "You had definitely better come with me."   
  
"And if we don't?" Rumple asks, flexing his glittery hands. His action makes me wonder if these two people/animals have magic. If they do, it could be a very bad thing for us, seeing as how they're probably at full power and we are definitely not.  
  
"I'll kill you." Ches says simply and I believe that simple shrug. That Ches would try anyway.  
  
"Let's go then," I say. You glance at me sharply. Your expression has 'are you crazy' written all over it. I pull you and Zelena aside, ignoring Ches' sharp, disapproving look and Zelena's immediate resistance to my touch. Rumple gravitates towards us, and Ches looks even more distraught. 

"Look, this person seems to know where she is. Oz seemed to be familiar and at the worst, we get captured, they try to kill us. Big deal. We have combined magic and we'll take on anyone who tries to come at us. What's the worst that could happen?"

  
"Well, for starters," you say in a harsh whisper, glancing around at all of the bizarre scenery. "We could die at their hands and never see our son again."   
  
"Sure," I say, scratching my chin. "Or we might not find Glinda at all, and Henry and my parents will die anyway when your time keeper runs out." 

"She's right," Zelena says, and you look at her like you want to maul her. And then you glare at me, but don't argue. Because I'm right. Right.   
  
"Fine," you say, stalking off ahead of me to follow Ches, winding around a blue-ish tree that reminds me of a weeping willow with all of the silvery hair-like tendrils waving around its trunk. It's beautiful. 

\-------------------

"Where are we going?" Zelena asks after we've walked for a good five minutes, folding her arms across her chest and pouting about the slow travel. I bet she wishes she had a broom right about now. I do too, actually, so she could fly away and we'd never see her again. Obviously she doesn't want to go on some wild goose chase, she wants to see Glinda, so hopefully that's where these people are taking us. They seemed to know about traveling people from Oz anyway, which is a good sign. Hopefully.   
  
"To see Pillar."   
  
"Pillar," Zelena says, glancing back at the two of us. We shrug. '"Who is Pillar? I'm here to see Glinda."   
  
"Yes, of course you are. But Pillar knows all who have been, and some of what is to come."  
  
Okay, this cat person is strange, talking in riddles or something. Can't we just get a straight answer out of these people? It's like a mad house. I mean, the Mad March Hare has an an excuse but the rest of these folks need to get their shit together.   
  
"Okay," I say slowly as we step over and around fallen trees and squishy red bushes. The leaves and berries are the same color and I accidentally step on one which squishes noisily beneath my feet and erupts in a squirt of goo. Gross. The Mad March Hare next to me bends down and scoops a great dollop of the stuff onto his finger, slurping happily on it as we continue walking.

"Delicious, my wee lassie. You ought not to waste such a seasonal delicacy." He winks at me and rolls his eyes crazily in his head. What the hell have we gotten ourselves into? And is it me or has the March Hare gotten taller in the past few minutes? 

"So where is this Pillar person?" I say finally, getting past the squeamishness of the rabbit eating stuff off the ground, not to mention the stuff being stinky red goop. Mad House.  
  
"Oh, he's not far." Ches says dreamily, rolling that smooth looking head back towards the front with a wide smile.   
  
And so we follow quietly behind the two Wonderland natives, wondering which character we'll encounter next. Or, I wonder that, at least. I'm not sure what everyone else is thinking about. Except you. Every now and then, I feel your hand brush mine and am granted with oddly delightful zaps of static. I wonder if you're feeling what I'm feeling: nervous, anxious about Henry, angry with Zelena. 

WHOOSH!  
  
What the hell? I see the blurs of motion before I recognize what's happening around us. When I see one sticking out of a tree trunk not far from my nose, I realize they're arrows and spears. There's a barrage of them whizzing from nowhere and everywhere, whipping past our heads and thudding into the trees and bushes all around us. I hit the deck out of instinct, pulling you down with me as the rest of the crew dives for cover.   
  
"It's the knaves," Ches yells from behind the nearest tree. Well shit. How do we protect ourselves from these latest weirdos?

"What do we do?" I whisper to you from our prone positions, face-down in the leaves and squishy goop that litters the forest floor. You stare at me, wide-eyed and brow furrowed.

"We fight, of course."   
  
"Okay," I nod because of course you want to fight. You're not afraid of anything. Especially death. I know that for sure. I've seen you laugh in the face of death several times: kind of a frightening thought for me. "So what's the plan?"   
  
"We need a shield."   
  
"Okay," I say, nodding again and then frown. "We have to conjure up a metal one or what? I've got my sword and this," I reach down and cup the gun in my waistband, but I know what your answer will be. I shouldn't use something like this in a land not ready for it. Its consequences would be dire, probably. 

So then, what? Use this sword with all my sword skills? Shit. Unfortunately I haven't swung one of these since I last lobbed one at Maleficent the dragon. At least Mary Margaret could shoot a bow and arrow at a charging Ogre. What can I do? Fire a gun. Chop a zombie's head off. Whoopdie do. 

  
"No, Emma," you say slowly. "Magic. A magic shield."   
  
"Oh," I say. Of course. If I could reach my head, I'd slap myself. "How do we do that?"   
  
"Just hold on to my arm and I'll do the work."   
  
"You know, I really could use some more magic lessons," I say and this isn't the the right time, but I figure if we die, you should know that I wanted to really learn, to master it.   
  
"I might have taught you something earlier if your tongue hadn't been down my throat the entire 'lesson'," you say with a sideways almost grin, pleased with your humor.   
  
I snort into the leaves even though there's chaos around us.  "I didn't hear you complaining about it then."   
  
"I wasn't," you raise an eyebrow with a half-way serious face, thinking back like I am probably to how it felt. But now really isn't the time. So we look around, see a group of these 'knaves' approaching from the west and I nudge you to the right, around the other side of the tree. They're tall and bright red, that much I can see from here. And they all look quite menacing. 

But at the moment, they're not paying attention to the ground on their right, so we spring to our feet, surprising them. I grab your forearm and you wave your free arm around in front for a bit as magic courses through us both. It's buzzing and heady and making me woozy. Like a strong dose of painkillers. Wow. 

  
And suddenly there's a shimmering wall in front of us, protecting us from their weapons. A few of the knaves, big bulky males and females maybe with sort of squarish uniforms, mostly red and strange, Turk-like helmets. They shoot a few arrows at us that simply bounce ineffectively off the wall.

"Let's go!" Ches yells, and we know that now is the time to escape, now that their arrows have been fired and we provided a distraction. We turn and run, following the cat and the rabbit and the green lady and the gold dude and I keep my eyes on the path. You know, maybe at some point I'll wake up from this crazy-ass dream and everything will be back to normal. Except I'd still like for what happened between me and you to be a thing. And for Henry to know you.

"How long will that barrier hold?"   
  
"A few more seconds," you say, glancing behind you for a brief moment. And sure enough, you're right, I see as I look back and see the knaves hammering against it with their swords and shields. It begins to break apart and crumble, shimmering pieces of it fall and disappear in puffs of purple and blue light  and the knaves come rushing after us. 

Bobbing and weaving through dense undergrowth, we dart around trees, across well-worn trails and through open fields. Eventually, Ches leads us into a cave, well hidden on the other side of a stream and stones and behind a curtain of vines, wildly colored flowers and leaves. We stop, out of breath, just beyond the vines and I'm bent over, gasping for air, knowing that **Rule #1 - Cardio** has been failing me in these other worlds, now that I haven't been running from zombies for a few days. Plus I think the oxygen levels are different. 

  
"So," I gasp, standing up and speaking quietly, even knowing there's no way those knaves could find us here. We backtracked and doubled back and snaked all around Wonderland it seems like, just to avoid them. "What are you, some kind of military specialist?"   
  
Ches has to be because the way this whole mission of getting to Pillar is being conducted, all professional and smooth and with hand signals and weapons drawn and everything is just too good to be true.   
  
"Yes, I am," Ches says simply, not gasping for breath like the rest of us. And I was hoping for a little more interaction, a little more explanation as to what exactly that means, or for whose military Ches fights for and how long all of this has been going on and I have so many questions, as I'm sure you and Zelena do. She's why we're here, after all. 

Anyway, Ches leads us into the cave and it turns out the cave is someone's home, a very smokey home, but a home nonetheless. It's richly furnished, reds and velvets and purples and plush armchairs and overstuffed couches. And good god, there are bongs everywhere. Bongs, hookahs, pipes. Jesus, this is Cheech and Chong's paradise. Through the haze of smoke, I can see someone sitting on the farthest couch.   
  
"Pillar!" Ches calls out and the person on the couch waves a hand around, trying to clear some richly scented smoke, and I'm starting to feel just a little bit woozy from all of it. Second-hand high I guess.   
  
"Ches, O'Hare? Is that you? It's been entirely . . . too long."   
  
The voice is slow, a little bit slurred, and as we get closer I can see the person up close. Just looks like a normal guy, kind of long hair, skin like the earth after it rains in Storybrooke, not quite as dark as Ches', and eyes that search deep into your soul. He's got his feet propped up on the coffee table, and is still reclined back on the couch, smiling up at us.   
  
Who the hell are these people? No scratch that, because this is just too surreal. I'm not sure I even want to know.  
  
"Ah," Pillar says. I'm guessing this is Pillar because we've stopped running and Ches hasn't said anything else. "I have been expecting travelers. And from what realm do you reside?"   
  
His voice is dreamy, even more so than Ches'. He sounds almost like a surfer or something. "From Oz and the Enchanted Forest," Zelena says loudly. 

Pillar nods his head, leaning forward now to pick up a nearby pipe. He holds it in his hand, doesn't do anything with it, just regards it as if it is life's greatest miystery. "Ah yes, of course. I wondered when this day would come. Down the Rabbit Hole and Through the Looking Glass." 

  
"You know who we are?" Zelena says. He nods, glances up briefly at the four of us and then back down at his pipe. 

"Everyone in Wonderland does. The Green Witch. Destined to be reunited with the White Witch. It's written in the stars." He gestures up at the ceiling, as if there are stars there. But there aren't, and it's not even dark outside so I don't know what the hell he's talking about.   
  
"He's high as fuck," I whisper to you, leaning in close to your ear.  
  
"Yes, he is," you whisper back.   
  
The dark eyes flick over to us, taking in the both of us as we stand before him, arms crossed, disbelieving that anything he says is legit. Although that last bit about a White Witch sounded interesting.   
  
"You two," he says slowly to you and me. "Not destiny, but something like it. The White Knight and the Dark Queen. Was it in fact, True Love?" He queries, smiling widely as if he already knows the answer.  
  
What the hell?  
  
I glance sharply at you and you return my questioning stare with raised eyebrows. 

"Can someone not speaking in riddles please explain what the hell is going on here?" Rumple says, and it's the first I've heard him speak in a while. He's frustrated, doesn't want to be here and I don't blame him, he really just wants to get back to his son. I feel the same way. 

"You, Dark One, want to know what is going on," Pillar says slowly, casting his wobbly gaze on Rumple. "What you really want to know is how I know all of this. Do I have the seer abilities like you do?" He shrugs. "Perhaps in this world. Yours do not stretch as well into the other worlds, though do they? Neither do mine. Just brief tendrils of sight, of important events." 

Rumple stays quiet. Ah, so that explains it. Rumple has future seeing abilities in the Enchanted Forest and Pillar has them here. I guess? Makes me wonder why he did what he did in Oz, though. How could he have known the future in Oz?   
  
"Yes, so the next thing you will ask, I can just see it in your faces, or should I say futures," He giggles for a moment, the slow, mirthful laugh of someone who knows more than anyone else in the room. "Is what happened here? What went on in this place to set the Red Queen and her knaves after us and to send the good people into hiding?"   
  
Ches and O'Hare take a seat next to Pillar on one of the overstuffed couches, sitting back and listening to a tale they probably know all too well.   
  
"Sit, me bairns," O'Hare says, in his too-loud voice. "You'll want to listen to this tale." He winks and we do as he says, each of us finding a seat on nearby couches and armchairs. Which are quite comfortable, if I say so myself, not to mention the light-headed feeling I'm getting from all of this smoke.  
  
Pillar sits back, takes a puff of whatever is in his pipe, offers it to Ches who sits next to him. Ches shakes that sleek head, stern gaze still directed at us.   
  
"It all started when the Red Queen took over the land from the Queen of Hearts." Everyone in our group glances your way and I can feel you cringe. That was when Cora escaped Wonderland with Hook and waited, protected in Safe Haven while your curse happened in the Enchanted Forest. 

"Soon after, the White Queen arrived here from a different land in a great twister. She would have been a wonderful ruler, she was kind and good and had useful powers thanks to her wand. She grew in popularity throughout our side of the kingdom for over about ten years. She took residence in the City of Hearts and ruled over the land. The Red Queen did not realize just how powerful the White Queen was becoming until it was almost too late. 

He takes a breath, blinks slowly and goes on. "But the Red Queen had a following of loyalists, those who didn't want to see the crown diverting from the royal Red lineage. One of them was Ches, here, in fact." 

Everyone glances now at Ches, who glares back with those golden eyes. 

"They became the Red Queen's knaves, protecting her and gaining an even bigger following. Finally they were big enough to overthrow the White Queen, send her away in exile, claim both lands as the Red Queen's, and reign the kingdom the way they wanted. Or, the way the Red Queen wanted, which wasn't good. She started by outlawing all magic. 

And then she developed a Casino of sorts, or so she called it, where people gamble with whatever they have in exchange for life's basic necessities, a way to keep the populace under control. She banned libraries and free thought, eventually punishing those who spoke out against her, silencing those who claimed she was violating basic human rights, even though we had no access to water or a market to trade for food and needs. When that started happening, some of her loyal followers turned against her, shunning her completely. Like Ches. Others became double agents, like me. 

Anyone found out was killed publicly. Some, the ones who were smart enough not to speak out publicly, who instead worked behind the scenes for the White Queen, trying to shut her down, those people stayed alive longer. And two of those were the Jaberwocks. A wonderful couple, brilliant and kind, and they had two sons and a young daughter, around two years old, but they were in hiding of course and the Red Queen called them the kingdom's number one enemy.   
  
Finally, the Red Queen's knaves found the couple and their children, but they managed to hide the youngest girl, Alice, before anything could be done to her. They were all killed of course, and the girl left an orphan. It's been exactly eighteen years since that day."  
  
"Jesus," I say, because that's an awful thing to do to a young baby's parents, and then just leave her there with no one. I know how that feels. "What happened to the girl?"   
  
"The girl is me," a stern voice sounds out from behind us. Everyone except Ches jumps about a foot off the couches. We all turn to look and there she is. Wow.  

 

\-----------------------

 


	25. Chapter 25

\-----------

  
I jerk my head around to the back. She's caught me off guard, which is a bad thing in the zombie world, and is probably a bad thing in this world too, unknowns and all that. This must be Alice. Alice in Wonderland.   
  
Alice looks young, and yet ancient at the same time, like she's seen far more than she should have at twenty. Is my math right? It's been eighteen years since Alice's parents were killed and she was around two when it happened. And if Glinda had been here around ten years before that, it would be right around twenty-eight or so years since the curse was cast. 

  
I give her one hard look, aware of my surroundings now, even through the hazy, euphoria-inducing smoke, Ches jumps up from the couch when she arrives and even Pillar and O'Hare stiffen at her presence.  
  
She's different than any person I've ever seen, and I've been places where people are quite strange, like Vegas, and downtown L.A. and even once to 6th street in Austin. But this is much stranger, perhaps because of her command presence.

 Her white spiky hair is the first thing I notice, but it's not the hair of an old person who's lost their pigment, no, it's the hair of someone who's either dyed it that way or experienced some severe sort of shock. But that's not normally something that happens to the whole head of hair is it? 

And then I notice the eyes: they're like Ches' but even more penetrating, more soul-searching, more grey. Her skin is different too, a grey-ish brown hue, and she's short but absolutely ripped with a sleeveless blue top and lightweight leather pants with boots. To put it briefly, she's a fierce looking warrior woman.  
  
She stands behind us with her hands on her hips and speaks again. "It's time to go meet this  _infamous_ White Queen."  
  
"You trust them enough for that, Alice?" Ches says, still standing at full attention and I can see now that there is certainly a military chain of command going on here.    
  
"I heard enough of the conversation, enough of this story." And for a split second her face awashes with emotional pain but she recovers quickly. I wonder if I'm the only one who saw it, however brief. "If they prove to be dangerous, we kill them."    
  
"They have powers, Alice," Ches says cautiously, tone growing grave.    
  
She hesitates for the first time. "Powers like the White Queen?"    
  
"Yes, and they seem to be more powerful combined together."    
  
"Well, then," Alice shifts from one boot to another. "We will have to treat our guests with respect then, won't we? You say you are searching for someone?"    
  
"Yes," Zelena says, earnestly beseeching this young girl who could take us there. Alice in Wonderland, in the flesh. "For Glinda. She's been missing from me for 28 years. Can you take us to her?"    
  
Although I'm not sure how Alice heard that bit about us looking for someone, because surely she wasn't here all that time. Or maybe she was, lurking in the shadows.    
  
"I will take you," Alice says and we all stand up, ready to follow. "We must be careful," she says. "There are knaves all around. You've stirred them up with your blatant display of magic. Most magic users were outlawed or killed during the Cleansing."  

"The Cleansing?" You say, scrunching up your nose. And I'm with you. That doesn't sound good. 

Pillar nods, folds his hands reverently over his belly. "It is what happened as a result of the Red Queen calling for the cleansing of all magic people from the land. Mainly they were looking for the White Queen, trying to draw her out by killing people similar to her."

"So we're in danger," I say, but that's nothing new for me. Or you for that matter. 

"Everyone here is in constant danger," Ches says seriously. But then Ches seems to be serious all the time.

"We should go," Alice says, nodding at Pillar, almost in thanks. For us? I wonder.

You and I stand up, readying to leave when Pillar speaks again. "Do you not want them to know about the prophecy, Alice? Everything I have said would happen has happened." 

Alice turns to him, rolls her eyes, as if she's dealing with a child who won't let go of a juvenile idea. 

"It is nonsense, Pillar. I have told you before: I make my own destiny." 

"Perhaps," Pillar says, chewing on his lip, eyes roving the room, landing finally on us. "But you two should know. There will be a battle. A battle with the Bandersnatch that will determine once and for all who the true ruler of Wonderland should be. A battle between truth seekers and falsifiers. Two will die." 

I gape at him for a moment and then turn to you. You simply raise an eyebrow. 

"Do not listen to him," Alice says impatiently, making towards the door. "He has all sorts of prophecies." 

"Is he normally correct?" You ask and Alice hesitates as we follow her from the cave-like, cozy room. 

"Sometimes," Alice says, and that's all she says. All we can do now is follow her. 

You lean in to me as we step outside and Alice pulls Ches aside to discuss a route. "Do you think we can trust these people?" you say. I nod my head. 

"I hope so. I feel like we can trust this Alice," I say, because I like her. She's intriguing, and I can see why you might too because she wants to write her own story rather than wait for fate or destiny or whatever to come and show her the way. 

\--------------------

We march behind Alice, in twos at a fast pace, you and I together, Zelena and Rumple directly in front of us, Alice at the lead, of course with Ches and O'Hare bringing up the rear.

I can't get over how different the plant life here is. It makes me wonder how all of these alternate universes exist, if we're in some sort of a wormhole that someone happened to discover and is accessible only through magic. Maybe the portals are wormholes that transport people from one dimension into the next. 

And in this world, it looks like in addition to the double suns, there are several moons in the sky, the nice blue sky. And perhaps in this world's formation things went a little bit differently with evolution of plants and animals because the colors are strange and couldn't happen most of the time on earth, not to mention the mixing of species, or maybe it's just how they happened to evolve.

 I don't have any idea. I'll have to ask someone here, a scientist perhaps, maybe Alice. She seems smart. Young, but definitely intelligent and fiercely . . . I don't know the word I'm looking for. Just fierce I guess. Like she could rip my heart out in one grab. Well, so could you, and so could Rumple, and Zelena might have a go at it too. I've seen you do it before. In fact, your mother tried it on me, and that wasn't easy to stomach. But after all I've been through with the zombies and whatnot, a ripped out heart really isn't so bad in comparison.   
  
"So where exactly are we headed?" I turn and look over my shoulder at Ches and O'Hare, and they're strolling chummily along, O'Hare grinning and Ches as serious as ever. Ches is like Alice in that way. I've noticed that Ches keeps watching her inertly the whole time, really. Ches hasn't taken those golden eyes off her.  
  
"To the White Queen's castle."   
  
"The White Queen," you repeat, and I can see you thinking about Snow White and hoping for everyone's sake that there isn't some alternate reality version of my mother waiting for us up ahead. That would be particularly mind bending. Based on the story Pillar told us, with the powerful woman arriving via twister, it has to be Glinda.  
  
"Yes, of course," Ches says in that silky voice. "Would you rather go see the Red Queen?"   
  
"I suppose not," you say. "Although, I don't know much about the Red Queen and can't say for certain. . ."  
  
Ches cuts you off. "Then keep moving."   
  
Well, I think and you give me a sideways glance. That effectively ended that conversation. Well, might as well try and start up a new one, especially since Alice is well in front of us. She seems to be very familiar with **Rule # 1- Cardio** , and also maybe **Rule # 2- Double tap** , based on the way that sword hangs from her belt.   
  
"So what's up with Alice anyway, how is she connected to everything here?"   
  
Those golden eyes stare unblinkingly at his superior. Almost like a puppy.  
  
"Alice trains the soldiers for the White Queen."   
  
"So the White Queen had something to do with rescuing her as a baby?"

"Yes." One nod of that great smooth head, and for a creature who seems to be all about resisting giving up information, Ches is certainly loose-lipped. Perhaps an inability to lie is the problem. "She raised the girl, taught her everything except swordplay. But Alice would not appreciate being talked about."   
  
"So what's the connection between you and Alice then?" I press on, really curious as to why Ches keeps looking up there, eyes glancing all about, looking out for her, no doubt. I wonder if Ches is a sibling of some sort. Or maybe Ches has feelings for her.   
  
"You're in love with her, aren't you?" You say with all the subtlety of a kick in the shins. I elbow you and roll my eyes.   
  
Ches sighs, eyes becoming dull and sad. "I have been in love with her for ages and nothing. She wants nothing to do with me, except for my skills as a soldier."   
  
"Well, maybe," I say, glancing up at Alice, and not to be judgmental or anything, but Ches is a good looking person, seems like the protective type and is nice enough I guess. But maybe Alice is not interested.   
  
"Maybe she's, um. . ." I hesitate, not wanting to offend Ches. "Maybe she's gay?"   
  
"What are you saying?" Ches says curiously. Okay, maybe there's a different word for it here. 

"Maybe she only likes other females?" 

"Are you insinuating that I am a male?" Ches demands, eyes glowing angrily. Oh crap, I've offended anyway. This time you nudge my arm. "Uh, no, it's just . . "   
  
"She is not 'gay'," Ches interrupts angrily. "Or anything. She is just Alice and simply wants to defeat the Red Queen and make things right in Wonderland. That is all."   
  
"Oh," I say, aware that I've dodged a bullet with that whole situation. Maybe I should have asked for a pronoun in the first place. Or maybe I'll just change the subject. "So can you tell us more about this marketplace, what did you say it was called again?" 

"Casino?" you add helpfully and I nod. Yeah that was it.   
  
"Ye sure are not from here are ya?" O'Hare says, in his almost gibberish, looking at me suspiciously, well one of those eyes is at least. 

"What?" I don't have a clue what he's saying. O'Hare rolls his eyes and looks to Ches for translation.

"O'Hare wants to know if you are really not from here," the smooth voice is tinged with sadness now. Maybe we shouldn't have brought up Alice at all. 

"No, we're really not," you say seriously. 

  
"The Casino is . . . well, you will have to see it for yourself," Ches says, stepping around us and out alongside Alice. He still glances left and right before moving forward towards a lake and what has to be the strangest looking castle I've ever seen. Not that I've seen that many castles in real life. I'm sure you've seen more, but this one, even for all the movies I've seen, is quite the looker. 

It's looming, but not only that, it's also balanced precariously on a strange, towering, column-like rock in a lake. A wide lake, maybe two or three miles wide and shimmering blue and green, reflecting the suns and stretching in front of us. The castle towers on top of a rock, small and thin on the bottom and then wide at the top, sort of like the Space Needle in Seattle, but on a bigger scale up top. 

It's not physically possible that it's standing, surely, but there it is. Whimsical almost. "That's the castle," I say doubtfully. Yeah, I don't know how this is possible, but here it is. And as we're walking towards the water line, I don't know how we're going to get across to the castle. But as we approach the water I can see the boats, all lined up, waiting for us and bobbing gently in the murky green water. 

We climb in several of these tiny wooden boats and I swear it's like fucking Hogwarts. As soon as we're all aboard, they take off, zipping along magically. The boats take us closer and closer to the castle and the outrageous thing only manages to look bigger and more foreboding the closer we get - closer still and I can just make out an opening cut through the rock just big enough for our boats. At the end of the short boat trip and inside the tunnel, the vessels stop near the stones at a passage entryway into a dark dampness that looks a lot like a dungeon under the castle.

Up the stairs, I can see now that there are passages that travel all the way through and up the thin rock to the castle. We stop at the edge of a stone walkway, hop out and enter the castle through a heavy wooden door directly ahead. 

And inside the castle, past the dark and gloom is . . . well, bright and modern and sharp lines. It's strange, as if this is a futuristic space ship instead of a middle ages castle, like it seemed to be from the outside, sort of. Except for the strange shape. I don't know what to think about that. Held together by magic? High tech architecture?   
  
Alice marches through the halls like she owns the place, like she's been living here her entire life, and if what everyone's been saying about her and the White Queen is true, which I think it is because Ches seems to be unable to falsify information, then she has.

Anyway, guards dressed similarly to Ches salute her as we pass them and eventually we make it up the stairs and into what looks like a Great Hall of sorts, more white walls and vivid paintings with splashes of color reflecting the vivid palate of the outside's wildlife. 

And then we walk down a long hallway to the back of the room where a long, hand-carved table sits. Everything in the room is majestic and beautiful and modern. And it makes me wonder if this is what Oz meets Wonderland looks like. I'm worried about getting muck and grime all over the plush white carpet, but Alice ignores it completely. Looking behind us, I realize why. 

Somehow the mud we are tracking in disappears when we walk. Science or magic? 

At the table, there's a woman sitting in a chair, gazing out a window turned sideways to us. It's difficult to see her features from so far away, but as we grow closer, I hear a gasp from in front of us. A gasp, followed by Zelena breaking forward into a run with a shout. "Glinda!"  
  
The woman jerks up in her chair, turns her head at the voice and at the green flash of movement comging towards her. When she sees who it is, she stands up and hesitates. But after a few more seconds, she takes two steps towards Zelena with arms stretched wide, and takes the woman into her arms.   
  
Well, here she is. What do you know? The White Queen is indeed Glinda. Of course she is. Glinda the Good Witch versus whoever is the Red Queen on the other side. All these colors. Good grief. 

 

\--------------------------------


	26. Chapter 26

  _A/N - warning for some sexy times in this chapter. and magic cock._

After a moment of a brief embrace between them, Glinda turns to the rest of us, her eyes clear. No tears to be seen.   
  
"Who are these people, Zelena?"  
  
Zelena sniffs, turning to us as and taking in a great breath. She does have some explaining to do, doesn't she?  
  
Glinda invites us all to sit at her table. You move to sit next to me, still understandably uneasy about this entire place, Glinda and Zelena next to each other across from us and Rumple nearby. Alice and Ches stand off to the side. I wonder why Glinda doesn't ask Alice to sit down, but if she's like me, she likes to stand.  Maybe she gets fidgety with too much sitting. I know how that is.  
  
"This is Regina of the Enchanted Forest. Emma, originally of the Enchanted Forest and most recently of the Land without Magic. And this is Rumpelstiltskin."  
  
"The Dark One," Glinda finishes for her with a dangerous glint in her eyes. She's heard all about Rumple, I'm sure, from Zelena back when they were in Oz. "I heard rumor of your possible arrival from Pillar, but did not know for sure if this was one of his _true_ predictions."   
  
Zelena gives Rumple a meaningful glare, as if all of this is his fault. And true, he could have told Zelena long ago in which world to search for Glinda, but he wanted his leverage just like everyone else.   
  
"And you, _Regina_ ," Glinda says, blue eyes roving over you, taking in everything that is the former Evil Queen. Dark leather, white shirt, dark makeup, hair back in a simple ponytail now because the updo wasn't so manageable sleeping outside. "That is a familiar name." 

"Yes," Zelena says and Glinda rolls her eyes at the interruption. Ouch. Not such a warm welcome so far for Zelena, is it? "She is Cora's other daughter."  
  
Glinda straightens her face and nods knowingly. "Ah, I see. I arrived here just as Cora was leaving. I did not get the pleasure of meeting the Queen of Hearts, although I hear you did your own share of heart snatching in your day. Is that rumor true?"  
  
You gape at her, and I'm sure my mouth is hanging open as well. Zelena cuts in again, and is bizarrely playing the role of mediator. I would think Glinda would be the one holding Zelena back from biting people's heads off. "Now, my love, let's not get accusatory. We're here for other reasons."  
  
And it's a good thing Zelena has stepped in because a low growl erupts from your throat and I'm afraid you might jump all over this little Glinda person.  
  
Glinda turns back to her lover, smiles widely and nods in compliance. "So how in the worlds did you find me?"  
  
"Rumple here finally told me the order of the worlds, and where you would likely have ended up given the direction of the wind all those years ago."  
  
"Yes, the worlds do seem to be lined up somehow, do they not? It is strange. And that a person can simply be whisked away by the wind: but a magic-fied wind is quite something. I have heard whispers that it was _your_ curse which caused the wind?" Glinda turns to you yet again, and now I'm ready to jump in and growl with you.  
  
"Actually, _dear_ ," you say coldly. "It was Rumple's curse. I simply enacted it. He has his hands in far more than I could ever dream of."  
  
Rumple gives an innocent little shrug but says nothing. 

  
"I see," Glinda says. "So why have you brought all these friends along, Zelena? Why not come see me alone? And how ever did you travel here; how did you manage to open a portal?"  
  
"The slippers, of course," Zelena pauses, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, like she should know that already. "Anyway, my magic behaved differently in the Enchanted Forest, and alone I couldn't activate them. Not to mention the fact that I didn't know where to look. So I employed the help of these three."

  
"Employed," I scoff. "More like blackmailed and forced. "  
  
Zelena shoots me a rapid-fire death glare.

  
"What is this interesting specimen of a woman talking about?" Glinda says, her icy blue eyes look me up and down like a piece of meat, as if she's just seen me for the first time. Shit. I don't like that look.  
  
Zelena has the decency at least to look a little abashed. "Well," she starts, hesitating because I'm sure Glinda isn't going to like what she's about to hear. She takes her uncomfortably roving eyes off me for a moment to gaze at her hesitating lover. Thank goodness because I can't figure out why she would be staring at me like that. I mean, Zelena is right there!  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Go on," I say, raising my voice. "Tell her all about how you cursed my family, my parents and my son. How you cursed my world and killed thousands of people simply for leverage."  
  
"Yes, dearie, do tell her," Rumple adds.  
  
Glinda glances sharply from us and then to Rumple for confirmation, but he can only send daggers to Zelena with his eyes at the fact that his son has been cursed as well. She then looks at Zelena, who, for all her green skin, has turned a sickly shade of pink.  
  
"Is this true?"  
  
Zelena nods, reaching for Glinda's hands. "But it was the only way. They wouldn't have helped me otherwise. No one would help me. I had to find you. I would have done anything to find you. "  
  
"Zelena, tell me this is not true. Tell me this is a joke of some sort. You murdered innocent people just to find me?"  
  
"No," Zelena stutters as Glinda knocks her hands away. "It isn't like that. They were collateral, just pawns in the bigger picture. . . "  
  
She trails off when Glinda stands up abruptly, knocking her chair back with a muffled thud on the white carpeted floor. It's the first out of control move I've seen her make.   
  
"Zelena, I've missed you terribly, but if this is what it means to have you back, that you've turned . . . evil. Then you shouldn't have come looking for me at all." She moves towards the door in a whirl of white flowing gowns and a look of disbelief on Zelena's face.

But at the last second, she turns around, eyes on you and me. "How long did the sleeping curse give you?" Her gaze wanders to the sand dial on your chest. 

"About two days left," you say, grasping the time keeper in your hand, and Glinda's thorny stare goes back to Zelena with a shake of her head as she storms off towards a door near the back of the room.  

The woman's features crumple into an expression of pain and regret and humiliation at her rejection. Crap, Glinda needs to like Zelena enough to come back and help save my son and parents. This is not good.   
  
"Perhaps we could have lied to her about what happened so that she would reverse this sleeping curse on _our_ son," you growl at me, realizing what's happened and how it could have been avoided. Of course, I acted without thinking, without a real plan, flying by the seat of my pants as usual. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. This was one of those times. Great.  
  
"You need to make this right," I say to Zelena, although I shouldn't have opened my mouth in the first place, but the truth would have come out eventually anyway. "You have to get her to come back with us. "  
  
"I know," Zelena says, wiping her eyes and standing up.

"You're going after her?" I say, surprised that she would have the guts to even face Glinda right now.

She holds her chin up high. "I would follow her to the end of the worlds and back."

\------------------------------

We sit in silence for a short time while Zelena speaks to Glinda in private, perhaps five minutes and then - 

BOOM

A door slams not far away.  
  
"That didn't sound good," I whisper to you, but it's so quiet in the room that everyone else hears it. Alice, this entire time, hasn't said a word. Until now.  
  
"You know," she says, stepping up to the table and leaning forward on it, the muscles on her bare triceps bulging out. "Glinda has already been acting strange. I think it is the stress. She did not exactly need extra stress on the eve of our attack. We are about to start a revolution the likes of which Wonderland has never seen, and you people hit her with this?"  
  
She's angry, obviously, her pale eyes and light blue tattoos that I didn't notice before against her greyish skin flashing in the sunlight streaming in through the window.  
  
"Look," I say, about to stand up for us, because we didn't know what was happening here. All we're doing is trying to save our son. "It's not our fault Zelena cursed my family and pretty much destroyed my world. She brought this on you, so if you're going to blame someone, blame her. We're doing what you're doing, trying to survive in a world that is anything but welcoming and nice."  
  
Alice straightens her back, crosses her arms and only scowls.  
  
"What is supposed to happen in this rebellion or revolution or whatever it is you're planning?" you ask, curious as to the plans and preparations that are obviously taking place throughout the castle.  
  
"I advise you not to speak any more, Alice," Ches says sternly from the wall. "We still know little about them. They could be spies from the Red Queen for all we know."  
  
Alice nods.  
  
"We're not spies," you grace them with an eye roll. "We're from a different world completely. We have no investment in tea parties and chopping off people's heads or whatever else is happening here. "  
  
"Right. You are only interested in self-preservation, selfishly concerned only with your own world and what is happening to your peacefully sleeping son and parents," Alice mocks.  
  
"Hey," I say indignantly, leaning forward on the table. "They're going to _die_ soon if we don't get Glinda back there to break the curse."  
  
"Is that so?" Alice retorts. "This is your new reality, Savior. We will  _all_ be dead in the morning if our plan doesn't work. So you can either sit back and be silent, or leave this place and find some other way to break your curse."  
  
I'm ready to really give her a piece of my mind when Zelena storms back in, tears fresh on her face.  
  
"Well?" you say expectantly. "How did it go?" Although we can plainly see how it went.  
  
"She hates me," Zelena says. I shake my head. It's understandable, but damn it that's not what we needed.  
  
"She wouldn't hear me out. She didn't want to hear how sorry I am. That I have regret for everything. Remorse. That I was caught up in everything that happened and I was selfish, not thinking of the consequences my actions would have on others."  
  
I won't tell her that it's no more than what you've done, and what Rumple has done, taking action without full knowledge of its effects later on. I do that too sometimes, not really on this scale, but anyway.

You stare at her, ready to lob out a fireball probably, but somehow you manage to restrain yourself. She is quite infuriating, I have to admit, but at the same time, she's partially correct. Your curse did negatively affect her life. 

"And now she'll never speak to me again, she doesn't want to see me anymore. Not after what I've done to so many people."  
  
"But she will help us, right?"

"Yes, of course she will, she's _good_ down to the core and she wants nothing more than to help people. Not only that, but I wanted to discuss with her the way to help the undead of your world."

"The  _what_?" I exclaim and you and Rumple sit up straight in your chairs. All Zelena has said so far is that Glinda is the key, nothing in particular or details about how to go about righting wrongs in the zombie world.  

"There's a spell in the Grimmerie. But I'll need her magic to do it."

"We can help them? Baelfire can be saved?" Rumple asks.   
  
Zelena nods. "Yes, but  . ."  
  
"But what?" I say, and Rumple speaks at the same time. "Explain it more thoroughly. We want the rest of the information."

  
"I needed to know for sure that Glinda would help, otherwise it would be of no use."

"But there's a war going on here," you say, pointing with your thumb back towards Alice and Ches. "Glinda won't go anywhere without seeing it through." 

"I know," Zelena says, shaking her head. Well, that's settled then. Laying both hands flat on the table, I push myself up and away from it, looking around at everyone. 

"So we'll help. We'll fight this war and then take everyone back to save Henry and my parents." 

"Emma, there has to be another way. This could take weeks, months, maybe years to complete. It's a _war_ ," you say, eyes wide and pleading. You don't want to do this. I don't either, but we have to. 

Alice makes a sound of dissent from the side wall. She's listened to all of it. "Not if our plan is successful. We will scout tonight, make sure everything is in its place and then with the right amounts of pressure in the right places at just the right times we overthrow the Red Queen and take over her castle. It will be a one day affair, at the most." 

I nod, believing her because she seems damned smart and probably much better at military strategy than me. But then again, I have little to no experience in military strategy at all. Only zombie strategy. But that could come in handy, I think. "Okay then. Let's do it."

\----------------------------- 

Alice goes in to see Glinda after a while, to 'continue planning' she says. Zelena is forced to sit and wait because Glinda has given specific orders that she does not want to be bothered, not by anyone whose name isn't Alice. And the rest of us are served dinner.

When I say dinner, I should be more specific. It's food, definitely. Edible, perhaps. Recognizable? Definitely not. 

There's tea. And that's about all I recognize. I'm pretty sure I don't see any meat. Strange colored vegetables and fruits that remind me of something you'd see in the Pacific Islands back in the Land without Magic. That flat brown stuff might be bread. Looks like naan, or tortillas. Either way, I'm starving and I'll eat just about anything right now. I heap a plate full of the stuff and dig in, staying away from the purple goo O'Hare was eating earlier off the ground. Where is that crazy rabbit anyway? I have seen him since . . . 

But my thoughts are interrupted after a moment when I feel eyes on me and I look up. Of course it's you. 

"What?" I say, mouth full of something that tastes like cheese but looks more like a tomato. 

"You're devouring everything in sight; just thought you might want to slow down a bit," you say sideways out the side of your mouth at me. Meanwhile, you take dainty bites of the small portions on your plate. I roll my eyes. Zelena is still sitting quietly at the end of the table, not eating, not looking at anyone. 

"I'm hungry. And besides, Pillar said two of us were going to kick the bucket in this war. If it's me, it's not going to be on an empty stomach." 

That makes Rumple snicker into his glass, but you simply give me a more pointed glare. "You are _not_ going to die, Emma. No matter how reckless you may try to be." 

"What makes you so sure?" I wink at you before taking a scoop of fruits with the Naan bread. 

"Because . . .Miss Swan," you grit out. "Our son is expecting us back in the Enchanted Forest to wake him up in two days. You will be there or so help me, I will find your ghost and kill you again." 

I don't know what to say. You're serious, that much is obvious, because I was totally joking. But I shouldn't joke about things like that, obviously. I won't in the future, promise. 

\----------------------------

Soon, Alice comes out of the door she entered around an hour ago to talk to Glinda and informs us that she and Ches will be leaving soon to go scout. 

"I advise the rest of you to get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a big day," she says, hoisting her bow and arrows onto her back and leading Ches back towards the stairs. 

"She's right," you say, standing up and wiping your mouth once more on the pristine napkin. You fold it neatly on top of your plate and turn to me. "We need our rest." 

Alice pokes her head back into the room. "You may choose a room on the floor below this one. They are all empty." 

We nod to her and watch as she leaves again. I stand with you and we say goodnight to Zelena and Rumple. Although it's probably not safe to leave Zelena anywhere alone, I figure she's a big girl and can handle herself for the night. 

"I hate this place," you say as we turn a corner down the hallway. A shiver passes over your body and I don't blame you. It's a creepy place. Modern and cold and I'm sure it wasn't quite like this when Cora was in charge, but I can still feel her presence, and I only met the lady briefly. 

"We'll be out of here in the morning. Just one night," I say, hoping to ease your mind. But your jaw clenches and I know that it might not happen. The ghosts of our past are sometimes still alive and well.

"You think she'll try and talk to Glinda again?" I ask, changing the subject, as we open a random door and step inside. It's a bedroom, furnished in the clean lines and minimalist style of the rest of the castle. With an attached bathroom. Perfect. You shake your head. 

"Not if she knows what's good for her.  Who knows what Glinda's thinking. She might magic Zelena's head off, as cold and indifferent as she was back there." 

"Well, she has reason to be upset or indifferent or whatever. It's one thing to chase after your love, but to destroy entire worlds to do it is totally another." 

You grow quiet, tossing your knapsack on the ground with a thud as you lower yourself heavily onto the bed, eyes downcast. And then I realize what I've said. Well, shit. 

"Regina," I start, voice pleading. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ." 

But you hold up a hand. I should've kept my stupid mouth shut, because you pretty much did destroy like half of the Enchanted Forest, except for Safe Haven and some farther reaching territories with the curse meant to get your revenge on the one who took away your love.  

"No," you say. "Don't apologize. You're right. And I'm sorry too, for being the reason you grew up without a family." 

I shrug my shoulders. "Partially your fault, partially my parents. They could have chosen to keep me, no matter the consequences. I dunno, I guess they were sort of looking out for me." 

You shake your head, clearly finished with this conversation. It’s time for bed apparently and I can’t wait to be in an actual bed. And with you. My ache for you never goes away.

You stand back up and start peeling away layers of clothing for the night, leaving them near the bed in case we need to rise quickly. All I can do is stand and watch, robotically removing my own clothes, because I'm mesmerized by your body. Damn the fact that we've both just brought up prickly memories and rehashed open wounds. I can forget everything, at least for this moment.

I know that for me and you, this moment is everything. This moment will bring us together in ways that nothing else could. And all I want is you, all I want is your body, your mind, your hands, your soul, your lips, your heart, every inch to be with me, move with me, feel what I feel, hear what I hear, taste what I taste. It's incredible, the way you make me feel. Nothing else can compare to this. You move close to me.

I want to know if you've got the same feelings. I want to know what is happening inside your mind, within those walls you've worked so hard to build up. I want to break them down, brick by brick, take as long as I need to, hopefully not as long as it took you to build them up, but I want them to come down. I want to know you, every cell, every tissue, every muscle fiber, every twitch of your nerves, every movement. I want all of it, and I can only have it if you'll open up to me.  

My lips on your neck, incredible, sliding them down to your collar bone, listening for every single gasp and moan and stretching of your corded muscles, allowing me to taste more, see more, do more. I'm still learning you. Someday I'll know everything. Someday. Now, I’m discovering, mapping, still striking out and treading water. My lips trail down to your breasts, and oh, you're so sensitive. Good thing because I could stay here forever, in your arms, my lips on your lips, down to your nipples, teasing, longing for these sounds you’re making. 

Your hands in my hair, fingers pulling, forcing me closer, impossibly closer to you. I can't get any closer, but I try anyway. I open my mouth wider, take more of you in, because this is what I want. We move back to the bed, and I climb on top of you, both of our clothes now on the floor.

Skin on skin, me and you, and finally your pressing hips have ground up into my stomach one too many times and you press me down, down past your breasts, past your navel and farther, into my favorite stretch of territory. Your smell is heady, dominating, like you can be sometimes and I breathe deeply, reveling in this moment. This moment before I taste, before I bring you pleasure, before we couple in ways I've wanted from you for so long before all of this. 

You're impatient, and you get to the point more often than not. Especially in the bedroom. One tug and I smile, wanting to tease, wanting to breathe more of you in and take my time. Another tug and I kiss your thighs, each one reverently, a testament to the shrine that is your body. 

"Damn it, Emma," you growl from somewhere above me, and I'm grinning again. "Put your mouth on me." 

And I'm not usually compliant, but I can take orders when I need to, especially when you nearly rip my hair from their follicles and force my mouth onto your throbbing, soaked pussy. Oh yes, I can take orders like this.

One lick through your slick center and I'm in heaven, the taste is divine, like I'm on mount Olympus and having a taste of ambrosia and honey. I lap and lick and tease, still tasting, still taking my time with you, but you're having none of it. You want me in a particular place and you want me there now. A last tug of my hair brings my lips and tongue to your clit, where you need me most. And I take my time there, as much as you want me to give in, I know that's not the way to get you off like you deserve. 

You deserve for me to take my time, to worship you, to revel in your every taste and movement and nuance. I want all of it, and I don't want to rush. I close my mouth around your clit, just for a moment, just to see what you do and I'm rewarded with a bucking of your hips into my mouth. Oh yes, that's where you want me. Don't you worry, that's where I'll be, soon enough. 

Slow, gentle licks to either side of your clit. Just enough to set a rhythm, just enough to get your mind in the right place, on the mindset that I'm going to get you there sooner or later - probably later - and that when it happens, it's going to be big. I dip back down and taste you at your source, like a hot spring, or the fabled waters of Cortez, keeping me young forever. This is all I need: my lifeblood, my source. You, you're all I need and I show you how reverent I can be with the way my tongue moves inside of you and around you and back towards your clit. 

Lapping and teasing and sticking you closer and closer to where you want me. Your hands become vice-like and stronger than I've ever felt them, holding my head at your center, pressing me in, grinding against me, pushing yourself higher and higher towards your peak. 

A lick to the side, two licks, a series of flicks from my tongue. And then I go for it, knowing what it will take to send you over the edge, wrapping my lips around your clit and sucking it in, flicking it beneath my tongue over and over and over until you thrust up into me, your hips out of control, your hands ripping strands of hair out. You're coming, hard and you let me know it. 

"Oh, Emma. Emma, yes!" You cry out as you shudder, once. Twice, your clit spasming beneath my tongue and then you're a mess of limbs and arms and hair and skin and muscle, unable to move, so complete with lust and fulfillment that all you need is to be held and loved and wanted. So that's what I give you. 

“Thank you,” you say and I smile into your damp face, your sweat slicked hair because I know you needed this as much as I did. Every bit of it. 

You're turning in my arms and I think it's to sleep, but I'm mistaken, apparently. Your lips and tongue, insistent on my neck and cheek, inside my ear and into my mouth, are telling me that you're not finished, that I'm certainly not finished. You groan into my ear, your hips grind against me, a thigh finding purchase against my own as you reach down and feel between my legs, gauging how wet I am, how ready I am for you. 

And Christ, I don't think I've ever been so wet. 

Suddenly you're whispering in my ear, continuing your teasing ministrations to my body. "I need something more," you say, winding your tongue around the shell of my ear and erotically inside. "I need something we haven't done before."

"Okay, what is it?" I ask without thinking because I'm pretty sure I'll do anything with you. I've tried some stuff before, but with you I don't even care. Say the word and we'll do it. But honestly, looking back now, I should have known what you'd ask for. Considering where we are.

"I need to fuck you. I need to have control and be in charge and I need to fuck you in ways you've never been fucked before."

You say it slowly, breathing out every word and syllable so that I catch them all, not quite understanding exactly what it is you want, just that your words have turned me on more than I ever have been. But it's not until I nod my head, turning to look in your eyes that you act. And still, even with my consent, I don't really have any idea what you've got in mind. We'll just have to see and go from there. 

You grasp me and I feel a surge of magic between us, electric and buzzy as usual, but when you press into me, your hips pushing forward, I can feel what you've done. You really weren't kidding about wanting to fuck me. And I guess if we've got magic, might as well make a strap on that doesn't strap on at all, one that you could feel is even better. 

And this one, I feel as I grasp it in my palm, noting your sharp gasp of pleasure, this one is a good size, thick and veined, soft skin and rock hard muscle beneath it. I want it inside me. I want you inside me. 

"Is this okay?" You ask, sounding a little out of breath and light headed at my gentle movements. 

"Yes," I whisper. "Fuck me." 

A breath out, more like a sigh and a groan mixed together and you're rolling on top of me, kissing me frantically, positioning your hips between my legs, begging for entrance, begging to feel what it's like to be full and hard and warmly encased inside me. And I give it to you, because I want this too. I understand that you need control and you need to be in charge tonight, in this place that reminds you of a time when you were rarely in control of yourself or your love life or anything at all. 

"Ahh," I cry out, feeling the tip of you push inside. I'm wet, soaked really and the stretch of you inside me is no problem. But I'm full and you're breathing hard above me, arms trembling as you hold yourself up.

"Regina," I say quietly, followed by a hiss that escapes through my teeth, because you're all the way in, your hip bones touching the backs of my thighs. "I want this. Enjoy it," I say earnestly, because I can feel your tension. I know you want something from me, but you're nervous to take it. You don't want to push too far, to let yourself go.

You open your mouth once, looking me in the eyes and then blink, closing your mouth too. Another shudder ripples through you. It has to feel so good. It feels good for me, at least. "I know what you want, so just do it. Fuck me. Be rough with me."

"Emma, I don't want to hurt you," you whisper, rocking your hips just the slightest bit. And at that, your eyes roll back in your head. Christ. You're gorgeous, positioned above me, breasts teasing me just out of reach, your hands on my thighs, holding me close now. You sit back, rocking your hips a little hard. Ah, yes. Again, another movement and I want more.

"Fuck, Regina," I say, sitting up with you still inside me and reaching for the back of your neck. You do want to hurt me. And I want you to. Our lips crash together and you devour me with an animalistic growl, pushing me back against the mattress. Suddenly, your fullness has left me, but just for a moment and then it slams home, filling me up and jerking me backwards with the force of it.

"Oh!" I cry out, my eyes opening wide and meeting yours. Another kiss, more tongues battling and teeth biting, nails scraping and you thrust into me again, knocking the wind from me. Whatever is swirling beneath your surface seems to take over as you thrust into me with fervor, over and over you push in and pull out. Your head falls to my chest, mouth encircling a nipple and sucking hard, your free hand coming up to do the same to my other nipple. And now teeth and bites and harder sucking, combined with the deep stroking and the friction against my already sensitive clit, I 'm overwhelmed with sensations. Some of those sensations are bordering on unpleasantness.

One more deep, long stroke and you're out of me, pulling back and resting your hands on your thighs. "On your stomach, Miss Swan," you say, voice growling and demanding. The bed depresses in the middle where I sit up on my elbows and raise an eyebrow at you.

"Want to fuck me from behind, huh?" One nod and I'm turning over, showing my backside to you and resting my head on my arms. But I don't stay comfortable for long. The bed straightens up as you leave it and suddenly I feel myself being tugged backwards and sideways so that my legs are hanging off the side of the bed and my ass is in line with your hips. I look behind me, surprised at your aggression, but there's no time for wonder because your hands are on me, nails digging into my back and raking down the long muscles near  my spine as you position yourself behind me again, lining up and finding your way inside.

I spread my legs to make room for you and jesus you don't hold back. My back arches into the bed, raising my ass up so you have more access. Your hands come down to my hips grasping them and using them to slam my body against yours, to get deeper and hit me harder. Involuntary gasps escape my chest at your forceful thrusts and I can hear you grunting with the exertion behind me, our bodies slapping together rhythmically, moving against the bed and making it creak loudly in silence of the room.

Your body leans forward and I can feel your breasts on my back, nipples erect and straining against me as you continue moving your hips, and your breath hits my hear, leaving gentle kisses along my shoulder. In between thrusts which have grown gentler now, you whisper in my ear. "Do you like me fucking you like this, Emma?"

"Yes," I manage with I nod and I'm about to turn my head to meet your lips in what I think will be a sweet, loving kiss amidst all this fucking, but I don't manage it. Instead, you grab a fistful of my hair and turn my head for me. Roughly. Our mouths meet in what is not a loving kiss, but a forceful, demanding, hurtful one. You bruise my mouth with your teeth and tongue, biting me and moving back down to my neck and shoulders where I'm sure I'll have marks in the morning from your sucking and your teeth. I hiss at one particular spot near the base of my neck where you really bite me.

At that, your hand travels down out of my hair and down to my neck, grasping the back of it at first, using it to pull me against your still grinding hips, and then your hand travels around the front of my neck to my throat, just exploring, feeling around the muscles and tendons and what must surely be my trachea. Oh shit, I think, with growing alarm; I haven't ever been choked before. And it's not something I ever really thought I'd enjoy, but you continue to move gently there, teasing me, waiting for me to say no, to tell you it’s too far, but I'm curious. What will you do to me? How far will you go?

At my silence, you pause, leaning over me once more. "Is this okay?" you ask, still lost in the heat of your excitement, but wanting to know that I want this as much as you do. I nod.

"Yes. Keep going," I say. And I do want you to. I want you to fuck me and scratch me and hurt me and choke me if you need to. God forgive me, but I'm dripping wet just thinking about it.

Your hand closes around my neck, and it's strong, the fingers sure and knowing, putting pressure on just the muscles on the side first, your other hand creeping down and reaching around my front, scooting us both back off the bed so you have room and tangling through my unruly hair to get at my clit. Another forceful thrust, combined with a gentle rubbing of around my throbbing bundle of nerves and I'm seeing stars. I still have all my air and I'm still seeing stars.

Another thrust, a bite to my upper shoulder and your hand tightens more, pressing ever so gently against my windpipe and I can just feel my breath constricted, not enough to affect me yet, but it's so hot. My hips move backwards, back arching in again as I meet your thrusts, wanting more of you inside. You respond to me, rubbing tighter circles around my clit and pressing harder now against my throat. Oh shit, I think, and I instinctively try to draw a deeper breath, but the air doesn't come like I want it to.

Fuck, and now you're slamming into me. I can hear your breath coming raggedly, as if someone is holding you around the neck as well, but I know it's because you're getting close, unable to hold back from what we're doing. Shit, I think because I'm close too, with the friction between my legs and the pressure around my neck and the colorful spots I'm beginning to see at the backs of my eyes.

And then I know nothing.

Nothing but outer space and a faint pounding against me and a million stars that I'm floating through, weightless, airless, but I have every single feeling I could ever need. Pleasure, love, happiness.

I open my eyes to gentle kisses along my back and upper shoulders, gentle soothing hands running up and down my sides. Your body, still pressed against mine, but now there's an emptiness where your cock was and there's still throbbing and aftershocks of pleasure between my legs.

"Are you okay?" you ask, still breathless and I nod, unable to turn my head and look at you yet, but you slide to my side and help me up onto the bed even though my body protests greatly. As we move, I feel more wetness than I'm used to between my legs, dripping down my thigh. Thoughts of you coming inside me make my still pulsing clit throb again.

You cradle me into your arms, my head on your chest as I try to control my raging heartbeat and erratic breathing. Your heart beneath my ear, your beautiful, good heart calms slowly and I focus on it, letting mine match up with it.

"Yes," I whisper, looking up into your eyes and smiling. "That was incredible."

You smile, the worry fleeing from your expression while love replaces it. "Thank you, Emma," You say into my hair, kissing my temple and closing your eyes.

"For what?"

"For what we just did. I know I was . . . rough with you."

"Whatever you need, Regina," I say genuinely. "I'm here for you."

A pause where we're enjoying the feel of being in each other's arms and then I remember. "You came inside me," I say, not accusing, simply stating a fact. I am a bit worried though. 

"Don't worry," you say, reading my thoughts. "I would have to perform some serious magic to get you pregnant." 

"Okay, good," I say, snuggling farther into you. I could really get used to this. "I love you, Regina." 

"I love you too." 

\-----------------------------------------

I'm wrapped up in your arms. Warm. My dreams are convoluted again, more genies and rabbits and chessboards and playing cards and flying carpets. I'm so close to finding out all the answers. So close. But suddenly, there's noise everywhere. 

You jolt awake next to me and I'm right there with you, blinking in the darkness, wondering where the hell we are and why there's so much yelling and banging. Zombies. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Where's Henry? 

And then I remember, and the panic slowly releases its iron hold on my heart. Glinda's castle, formerly your mother's castle, and before she got here, well, who knows. And there's supposed to be a war going on. You grasp my hand, wave your free one and in a puff of purple smoke, we're dressed again and out of bed just as our door bangs open and Rumple steps in, eyes wide. 

"What is it?" 

"Let's go. Alice has been kidnapped."

"Kidnapped?" you exclaim, hoisting your knapsack on your back and tossing mine to me. He nods as we follow him into the hall, cobwebs of sleep fleeing rapidly from my brain. 

"Ambushed, arrested by the knaves and taken to the Red Queen's Casino. Ches just returned with the news." 

"Shit," I say under my breath. 

"So now what?" you ask, and we're heading back into the dining room again where Glinda greets us, eyes wide with worry and Zelena is hesitating nearby, afraid probably to move in and comfort. 

"Follow me into the map room," Glinda says, her voice shaking only a little. "Time for a new plan."  

\--------------------------------------

 

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

  _A/N - brief mentions of non-consent later in this chapter_

The map room, as the name suggests, is full of maps. It's a circular room, in one of the upper towers I think, and decorated nice and cozily. Warm carpets and plush cushioned chairs and couches. Rich reds and purples, it's a room for royalty, for sure. I catch a glimpse of your face as we enter and you're hesitant, as you have been since we first got here. And why wouldn't you be? Your mother probably drew out the maps and battle plans for everything that happened during her reign. 

"So," says Glinda, who is pale, paler than usual because as far as I've seen her she's been pretty damn pale. But her hands are steady as she unfolds a large parchment, smelling of new paper and fresh ink, spreading it across a large table in the room's center. You and I along with Rumple and Zelena crowd around it. "If I know the Red Queen, and I do, she'll have Alice locked up in one of her underground dungeons. Not terribly difficult to access from the main gates, but I assure you they will be heavily fortified. Perhaps even magically fortified." 

"Won't it be difficult to get past her fortifications if our magic is compromised?" Zelena asks.

Glinda hesitates, doesn't make eye contact with her former lover. "The Red Queen is powerful. So although we must part ways for this plan to work, we will still need to have two magic users together at once."

"How did the Red Queen gain magic in the first place?" Zelena asks curiously. 

Immersed in her study of the map, Glinda ignores what Zelena says. When I slide my eyes furtively your way, you meet them, eyebrows raised. We're thinking the same thing. Ouch.

It's strange how distant Glinda is behaving towards Zelena. But I guess 30 years and a destruction of worlds will do that to a couple. After a while longer of silence and studying the map, Glinda goes on. 

"And again, if I know the Red Queen, she will have Alice executed tomorrow. The time for public executions, as usual in the Red City, will be at noon." She points at the center of the Red City, high in the mountains far on the right side of the map. The complete opposite of where we are on the map right now, in the middle of a lake not far from the sea and surrounded totally by forest. I can see why the place is a good hideout. The castle is completely concealed from any roads by dense thickets of trees all around. 

"Is it necessary for her to kill Alice? Wouldn't it be more prudent to hold her hostage, try and get something in exchange for her safe passage?" you ask, raising your gaze to Glinda. She stares back, unblinking. 

"Is that what you would have done, Queen Regina?" Glinda asks, apparently having heard more about you it seems than you've heard about her. You're taken aback for a moment, perhaps a little shocked that she, again, would speak so blatantly to you about your past. 

"Probably not," you say quietly. Glinda nods. 

"I thought so," she says with finality. "Now, the Red Queen likes to scare people into submission. She uses tactics that are, shall we say, unsettling. You all are willing to help save Alice, correct?" 

I nod, swallowing thickly. This isn't easy, taking on a fight that isn't ours. But it's the right thing to do, plus we don’t really have a choice. "Yes, of course." 

"Good. And I thank you for that. She is my daughter," Glinda says tightly. But with the way she's treating you, it's getting difficult to want to help her. "She may not be flesh and blood, but I love her as if she was." 

There's silence in the room, and you, Rumple, and I are all thinking of our sons until Glinda gets back to the plan.

"So, there are five of us with magic. It is all foreign magic, but regardless, together we will be more powerful. That will be fortuitous," Glinda pauses, looking over the map with a deep sigh. "Alice and I were destined to face the Red Queen and her Bandersnatch eventually to save Wonderland from her tyrannous rule, but it seems that now we are speeding things along." 

 Oh great. More about the Bander-whatever it was. 

"You're saying that we might potentially meet the Bandersnatch, as well as try to rescue Alice from the Red Queen?" Rumple asks, not looking happy about any of it. 

"It would be the natural progression: for the Red Queen to command her Bandersnatch to dispose of us when we finally confront her castle and followers." 

"Great," Rumple says, and I'm with him. Another foe to face. "This Red Queen seems like a right nice ruler, then." 

Glinda's jaw tenses. "Of course, the people of Wonderland traded one ruler for another. Cora was said to be worse, stealing hearts, controlling the people without anyone's knowledge. Every abuse Cora made to the Red Queen formed her into what she is today." 

I feel you stiffen next to me, and it seems like Glinda is purposely baiting you. Why would she do that if she wants our help? On the bright side, though, at least Zelena is hearing just how rotten your mother really was, so maybe she can let go of this idea that you were so much better off than she was. And Rumple? How Rumple and Cora fell in love, I have no idea. Evil and evil go well together I guess. 

"Hey," I say firmly. "Lighten up, will you?" 

A shrug, and then Glinda goes on. "Perhaps it is worse now. Cora merely controlled, but the Red Queen never hesitates to use deadly force to get what she wants. She, unlike Cora, wanted to be the only one with magic. In fact, before the Red Queen's time, this entire map used to look quite different. There were many magical creatures in Wonderland, but the Red Queen destroyed them and found ways to harness their magical energy via their hearts, an idea contrived from Cora." 

"She uses magical hearts to power things here?" you ask incredulously. Glinda tilts her head to the side. 

"Past tense, my dear Queen. The magical creatures are mostly gone, their life forces all drained. There are still a few near this castle who help with the resistance. Now she relies on the people's life forces, which are much less powerful. The Casino serves this purpose now." 

"So that's how it works," Rumple observes, eyes on the Red City on the map. "They trade their souls and energy for their basic necessities, and that powers the city." 

"Not just the city," Glinda adds, gaze wandering out the window towards the lake. "It keeps the Red Queen's magic powerful. Her magic thrives on it. But lately it has not been enough." 

She points to the mountains separating Wonderland from the Red City on the map. "She also uses magical diamonds and emeralds, mined deep in the mountains to power most everything now. They work better than the people's life forces, but they are deadly to harvest. One could voluntarily do these things, work in her castle, go onto her Circuit, for money or goods, but usually it is the unlucky ones who are stuck in these situations. The ones in debt to the Red Queen."

A pause, and Glinda continues. "Pillar is an example of this. He was a face for the resistance, but was easily bought for drugs, and this is how he came into debt with the Queen. He is also an exception: he spies for us, feeds false information to the Red Queen. He will play an integral part in our plan."

"And on top of all that, anyone who loses everything in the Casino, or who refuses to play, or refuses to go on her Circuit, is sent down to the mines. Before long, you are another faceless card, no soul, no heart, join the club. A death sentence." 

"Soon she won't have any people left to rule over," I say, overwhelmed by everything she's telling us. It's worse than I thought. 

"Exactly why it is time to act. When she is not purging souls, she is publicly killing those who stand up against her. Her reign needs to end." 

"Wait a second," I say, a little confused at something Glinda mentioned before. "What's this Circuit?" 

Glinda gives a half smile. "The Red Queen has many tastes, some of them more carnal than others. And when Casino patrons have lost it all, some face relegation to the Queen's 'voluntary' sexual service called the Circuit. When they are used up by the kingdom's high ranking officials and the Queen herself, she sends them and others not chosen down into the mines."

"Jesus," I mutter, an endless array of scenarios floating unbidden through my head. Maybe I shouldn't tell you that because you'll read this someday. Glinda tilts her head at my expletive. 

"And that's where you come in," Glinda says, looking me up and down. "You're just the Queen's cup of tea. Exactly what she likes." 

Again, you stiffen next to me. I'm right there with you. I'm doing what now? "Wait . . . What?" 

Glinda nods. "You're the distraction."

"So . .  I'm going on the Circuit?"

"Yes."

"Uh, okay . . . " I start to say. 

"Absolutely not," you interject loudly. And I don't blame you. This does sound awfully dangerous, not to mention the Circuit part which is freaking me out a little bit. But I can handle it. After I gape at Glinda for a moment and just start to get a hold of myself, you grab my arm and drag me off to the side of the room. The others watch us converse just out of earshot.

"What the hell are you doing?" you say, your hand biting into my forearm.

"Saving Alice," I frown, because I thought it was pretty obvious. 

"This is a death wish, not to mention the fact that who knows what kind of . . . _perversions_ this Red Queen might have in store for you. We need a different plan."

"It's the right thing to do. It's a decent plan, Regina. And it's the only one we have," I say, shaking my head, trying to comfort. It's not working. Or maybe it is. Because after a moment, you come to a decision. 

"Fine," you say huffily, crossing your arms. "But I'm going with you. I'll be in the shadows, ready to step in if you need help." 

I raise an eyebrow. "Jealous, hmm? Don't want me to be alone with the deviant Red Queen?" 

"No, I don't," you say fiercely. I'm aware of our proximity, how close we are. And I know what you're feeling. You want me to be safe, and you certainly don't want someone else's hands on me. I get it. One nod of my head and we both turn back to the table. I try for an air of confidence and a calm tone.

"So, we're going to sneak in, distract the Queen, steal Alice back, and then what?"

"Dismantle the entire system, of course," Glinda says matter-of-factly.

Of course. 

 _____________

**April 7 2013**

The journey between the Glinda's castle and the Red Queen's castle is some thirty miles via the road. But via the Mountains of Division and a few only slightly strange-looking horses it's only fifteen. Granted, it's still dark out and this mountain route is supposed to be treacherous, snow-capped and icy. Who knows if we'll make it through alive. But it's half the distance, and right now we need all the extra time we can get before noon today. 

I've already asked about all of this diamond power and what kinds of machines they have running on it. How nice would it be to get there in thirty minutes in a car or a flying machine instead of however many hours it will take by foot or horseback? But neither Glinda nor Ches seemed poised to gab about technologies reserved only for the richest among the Red City's officials. They did mention a few powered vehicles, but there's nothing like that here to get us to the Red City faster than on a horse. So, if the horses can travel 8 miles an hour or so, we could get there in three hours, maybe faster.

\------------------------

We leave the castle on boats and manage to find some well-hidden stables in the forest. Soon enough, we set off on the horses, and fortunately, you've provided me with these nice leather pants that feel nice on a saddle. Unfortunately, I'm not so good with horses, and I think the one they've provided for me can tell. It's not really a horse, per se. It's a little different, the legs a little too long and the head shaped more like a doberman's than a 'traditional' Land without Magic or Enchanted Forest horse, but they operate the same way. I think. 

 

I guess I wouldn't really know since I've only been on a couple of horses in my entire life, and the last time was when I was ten or eleven, with a foster family who happened to live near a farm. They took us all over there once to ride the horses for a fun outing, but my horse, naturally, would be the wild one. It bucked me off hard. 

I landed on the ground even harder and had to bite back my tears because showing weakness in the system, especially around as many kids as were living in that house, was not a good thing. The old farmer picked me up and set me right back on top of the horse, muttering something about getting back in the saddle otherwise you'll be afraid for life. Well, I was still afraid, and rightfully so. It bucked me off a second time and that time I broke my arm. 

The farmer didn't make me get back on the horse a third time.

  
So this horse, definitely, is reading my mind and seeing far back into my past, the projector in its mind surely going over and over and over the two hard falls from the Land without Magic horse. Well, there's nothing I can do to stop it from reading my mind, because we're already setting off and I'm glancing over at you for cues on what to do.  
  
"Are you all right?" you ask, raising an eyebrow my way, sitting elegantly. And don't you paint the picture of a perfectly trained horsewoman, sitting tall on your saddle, reins held loosely in one hand and long black cloak draped elegantly on the horse's rump. Maybe you can toss some magic my way and help me out with my fear.  
  
Shit. I'm not supposed to be afraid of anything, But these stupid beasts are likely to kill me. And we have to go through mountains? In the dark?  
  
"No, I'm not," I admit under my breath, looking at you quickly and then away again as I tense and gently dig my heels into the horse's sides, urging him onward to follow the rest of the group, who have taken off at an easy trot.  
  
"You haven't ever been on a horse before?" you ask, reining back to me, your horse easily following your every command. Damn you. Maybe I can just ride on the back of yours, wrap my arms around you and be safe for this journey. It would be nice to be so close together, wouldn't it?  
  
"No, I've ridden before," I say through gritted teeth, "It's just . . " And I hiss when I make a wrong move and the horse jerks to a stop, sending me chest first into its mane.  
  
Your mouth opens in recognition. "Oh," you say slowly, only barely biting back a smile. "You've had a bad experience."  
  
Of course, you can read me like a book. And of course you would want to laugh. If you only knew. But suddenly the horse does something quite strange.  
  
"Not to worry, miss," it says, and I probably jump a foot off the saddle. The horse just spoke. And I swear to all the zombies back on Earth that he sounds just like Mr. Ed. This place. Can my eyes roll any farther?   
  
But then again, I think, why wouldn't it? The Mad March Hare speaks, the Cheshire Cat speaks. Why the hell not?  
  
"You can talk?" I squeak, leaning around to look at his face. It nods its great dog-like head. "Yes ma'am. I know you are afraid, but we have a job to do. And that is to defeat the Red Queen. So hold on."  
  
And without any more frivolous conversation or wasted time, the horse takes off at gallop to catch up with the rest. As I pass you, I can only cling to the saddle, trying not to do anything with the reins, simply to keep them from dropping to the ground and tangling up the horse's legs because this creature is in complete control and your eyes are wide, almost as wide as your grin, which is almost as wide as Ches' grin. Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. The horse is in charge of the Savior, who can't even ride a stupid horse. Stupid, fucking Wonderland.

==============

The first sun has risen by time we turn past the last batch of freezing cold mountain rocks and I can see it before we even reach the gate, which is pretty tall by itself. The castle. 

The castle is . . . wow, it's really different from everything else I've seen so far in this world. Except for the former Castle of Hearts. This is similar to the way it looked inside Cora's former abode. The way the shiny, towering spires loom over the surrounding city, encircled by forests and snowy mountains is like the way Cora's castle was almost medieval on the outside and the inside was sleek and modern and full of either technology or magic. That's the way this city makes me feel too. 

Confused. Is it magic or science that keeps it bright and shiny, humming with activity? 

Of course, now I know the secret behind this thrumming, it's like Las Vegas, lit up and live wire, never sleeping with the people stumbling around dazedly. It seems like there should be more people around, because it's getting close to noon, or at least I think it is. It's hard to tell with the suns that rise and set at different times. At least one of them is midway up the sky, so I'm gonna say it's maybe ten or so in the morning. We don't have much time to get in and save Alice.

Getting through the gate is no problem. And I figure that it's because getting in is much easier than getting out. 

Anyway, we leave the horses behind with a tiny little soldier. I thank my horse for keeping me alive because it was actually an enjoyable ride after I couldn't feel my legs anymore - or my face and arms for that matter- that's how cold it was. And we manage to walk through city streets buzzing with a few people who don't spare us a second glance, and in the city, there doesn't seem to be much security. There might be cameras or people watching secretly, but none that I can see.

The Red Queen will have no idea who we are and so there will be no need to disguise ourselves, at least that's what Glinda assured us. There are brightly lit signs everywhere pointing the way to the Casino with advertisements for all sorts of remedies and essentials that I wouldn't think should be purchased in a Casino. A grocery store, yes, but a Casino, no way.

Toilet paper, all sorts of varieties of food, and beverages, cosmetic items, clothing, basic tools. It seems like, anything you want to buy, you're going to pay a much higher price than you would back in the Land without Magic before the zombies. After the zombies it was a fucking free for all, so really, I have no room to talk about strange societies. No one in their right mind would want to live in an apocalypse like that.  
  
But then again, it seems that this world is just on the brink of one, caused by greed and evil. Aren't they all?  
  
So it's easy enough to follow the signs towards the Casino. You and I walk together, Zelena and Rumple on separate sides of the street maybe twenty feet behind us, the rest of the group is far behind, spread out and trying not to draw attention, and Glinda is in disguise. She told us she'd meet us at the Castle, that first she had to meet with Pillar to get me into the Circuit.  
  
Something else I have to be nervous about. As if storming the castle with no real military tactical training, except for what Ches and the rest of the rebels they've brought along have to offer, and riding a horse, and being in a different world, and having the thought of Henry and my parents' imminent death looming over my head at all times, I really don't need the extra pressure of having to pretend to seduce some crazy ass Queen.  
  
But then again, it was something else discovering and admitting I'd been in love with you all this time and learning the pleasures of seducing you. And I give you a sidelong glance, letting my eyes rove down your appropriate Wonderland outfit, your black leather pants under a trenchcoat. Similar to what I'm wearing. The fashion isn't too different from the Land without Magic, but some of the people have a strange affinity for skin tight clothing. Like Ches. The fashion really seems like a free for all, with people being able to express themselves how they want. Maybe it's because that's the only thing they get to express.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Glinda told us to wait near the Casino's entrance for Pillar, so we approach it, the bottom of the looming castle, all lit up and blinking like a Vegas hotel on steroids. 

There are guards at the front, tall and squarish, looking like actual cards standing there with their spears at the ready. But they're facing inward, totally focused on everything happening inside. Getting out will be the tough part.   
  
There's nothing to do but wait until Pillar arrives and gives us instructions, so we stand as naturally as possible outside the building trying to look like we belong. Like Glinda told us before: he's a double agent for the resistance and is one of the Queen's suppliers of people. I look over at you and you're antsy, shifting from foot to foot, glancing around nervously. Not only that, but you're fidgeting with something in your pocket.  
  
"What's wrong? What's in your pocket?" I ask, my eyes trailing down to your covered hand.  
  
You meet my eyes briefly, and then continue glancing around. "Ches gave me this cake and potion. Said Pillar wanted me to have it and it's important."  
  
I frown. "Right now? Cake?"  
  
One roll of your eyes and I'm quiet. "Relax, Emma. I'm sure it means something, I just don't know what yet."  
  
And that makes me pause. Cake. Then potion. That's familiar here, isn't it?  
  
But it's too late to ponder any more on it because Pillar has arrived, strolling coolly toward us from another side street. His long, dark hair swaying around his back, strange eyes, taking everything in. Cool as a cucumber.  
  
"Hello, my dearest friends," he says in his usual slow, lilting voice. It makes me want to fall asleep. And boy does he smell like that perfumed smoke.  
  
"You're supposed to be escorting us inside?" you ask, still tapping your foot impatiently.  
  
"Relax, Dark Queen. We will have time. The future is sure."  
  
"It is?" I ask, because my future has never been sure. Not once. Well, until you kissed me, that is. Then I was sure about what I wanted, what my future could be. But it was never a guarantee that you would keep loving me. It still isn't. You still don't know everything about me. You could leave and Henry would be heartbroken, or he would go with you and I would be alone, heartbroken, hopeful that you'd be happy without me.  
  
That's how unsure the future really is. I could die. You could die. Someone here is supposed to die, remember?  
  
All of those thoughts flit through my mind in a matter of seconds and I'm wrenched back to the present.  
  
"Of course it is. I have seen it." Pillar says and then brushes past us into the Casino as if he isn't walking into the lion's den. We slip past the guards, leaving Ches and the rest in the shadows of nearby alleyways. I'm nervous to go past these knaves, sure they're going to snatch us up and lock us in the dungeon. But nothing happens, they just stand there, glazed eyes intent on watching the people inside, making sure no one gets out who isn't supposed to be out. 

Once we're safely out of earshot, strolling leisurely towards the back, I lean close to Pillar, wishing we were a little more prepared for this. Granted, I usually fly by the seat of my pants with plans, but still. There's a lot riding on the outcome of this mission, mainly that we hurry up and get Alice and Glinda and get the hell out of here.  
  
"So how do we go about getting to this Circuit?"  
  
"Only you will be joining the Circuit, Savior," Pillar says, glancing back at you with a smile, a knowing smile. "Your majesty," he bows, almost mockingly. "Will be joining me in the servant's lifts. We will be nearby when you enter the Red Queen's chambers. Dark Queen, do you have what Ches gave you?" 

You nod, patting your pocket gingerly, but my mind is on the farthest thing from cake.  
  
I'm not sure what to say, or what to ask, although I have a million questions. Will she hurt me? Will she want me to hurt her? Will I actually have to do things with her? Will you see me doing things with her?

This is so messed up, and I keep wondering if we couldn't have had a better plan. But, all we needed was a distraction, so, here I am. Through the Casino, it really does look a lot like Vegas at about four in the morning. Bleary-eyed people and some half-creatures standing around tables, playing games, cheering, crying, cashing in chips. Some, a very small number, heading back out into the streets, not looking happy necessarily, but more relieved, I guess, to be spending another day in the City instead of down in the mines or on the Circuit. But really, depending on their sexual tastes, the Circuit can't be that bad.  
  
And as soon as I think it, I'm sure that I'll regret it, that there's something much more sinister about the Circuit, that I'm about to discover for myself.  
  
But I keep psyching myself out. It will be fine. I'll be fine. Just distract her, wait until she's good and distracted and then you will come in and help me restrain her. Easy. 

"Right this way," Pillar says, leading us to the very back of the huge room towards what look like elevators.  
  
They sort of are, but once I get closer I'm thinking they are more like Willy Wonka's great glass elevator. But before we get there, Pillar leads us to a small room off to the right, and it's actually a large clothes closet. There are outfits of all sorts, but mainly this is like some kind of sex toy shop with costumes for whatever your kinky tastes might be. He rifles through the hanging outfits, eyebrow raised, and a smile creeps over his face when he pulls one from the rack.  
  
"Oh hell no," I say aloud. I meant to just think it because there are other people and creatures in here, picking out their outfits. They frown and glare suspiciously at us. You nudge me in the ribs, even though I know you're thinking the same thing. Seriously?  
  
It's leather, at least. And red. Jesus, I think, as I roll my eyes and take the hangar from this evil Pillar dude. Even though he's not evil. He knows what the Queen wants, I guess. 

But when he pushes me to the small changing room by myself to put it on, I'm really not leaving much to the imagination. Red leather straps all over my body, covering up the required parts of course, but also leaving me feeling quite exposed.

And what's this on the crotch? Oh hell. 

"No way, Pillar," I call out from the tiny room. 

"It's what she likes, Savior," Pillar calmly calls back in a tone that says he's not taking no for an answer. 

I roll my eyes. "Can I have a robe, at least?" 

In response, a black silky robe is tossed over the side. At least it's not see-through. I sigh, put it on and step out of the changing room. Your eyes immediately move up and down my body, checking for nudity, I'm sure. 

Be patient, I think. That's soon to come. 

"I don't know about this, Pillar," I say uncertainly. "I don't feel comfortable doing this. I don't want to have sex with her." 

He raises an eyebrow at me and you simply glare your agreement. "You think I would make you do something you don't want to do?" 

I shrug. "Maybe."

"No, I would not. Your Dark Queen will step in and help you restrain the Red Queen when the time is right." 

 "And what about you?" I ask with a nod because I believe him. And I hope you do too. 

His dark eyes glint for the first time without the glaze of his smoke. The way he looks right now, excited, flushed. Ready. It must be the way he was before the Queen bought him for drugs. "I will be there with you, ready to take her down. Finally."

* * *

 

We leave the costume room and head back towards the elevators. Pillar turns to me as we come to a stop. Two guards stand on either side of the elevator, but with a nod from Pillar, they both walk away, looking very interested in a gambling table out of earshot.  

"Keep in mind that you are simply a throwaway pleasure for the queen. Like most royals, she has a certain taste for them. Find out exactly what she likes, exploit it, and we will take advantage of it." 

At the thought of royals having a taste for throwaway pleasures, I can't help but picture you in your black leather with some young blonde woman tied up and panting in your chambers, skin red from where you've hurt them. That, somehow, turns me on. Maybe I'm just nervous.

"Is that true?" I ask you quietly, because I want to know about your past as Pillar turns away and presses some buttons inside the elevator. "Did you have a taste for throwaway pleasures?" 

You roll your eyes. "I used sex for power, Emma," you say impatiently. "That was it. I had no Circuit, or whatever the hell this maniac has set up." 

"Okay," I say hesitantly, but I shake myself out of it. Jealousy isn't going to get you anywhere, Swan. And really, Regina, it's you who should be jealous right now, not me. You're not the one about to stand almost naked in front of a complete stranger and offer her sex. Pretend offer, but still. 

"Time to go," Pillar says, stepping out and giving me a push into the elevator. "She's expecting you. A fresh, new face."  

"Great," I groan, shifting uncomfortably in the tight leather. Before the doors close, however, you meet my eyes. 

"I love you," you say quietly and it makes me smile, reassures me that everything will be okay. 

"I love you too," I say, and it's still not easy to say it, because I never say it. It's hard for me just like it's hard for you. We've been unlucky in love too many times. But right now I needed to. I needed to let you know how I feel, just like you did. 

The doors close and I get one more look at your worried face, your beautiful brown eyes I'd like to get lost in and then I'm alone. 

* * *

So now what am I supposed to do? I shift uncomfortably as the elevator shoots into motion. I have to go up here, pretend to want to have sex with this woman, this woman I've never met and then what? You will walk in and see us, see me in a compromising position, see me cheating on you basically. 

I don't want to do that. I don't want to cheat on you. I love you. I love you more than I love breathing, more than sleeping, more than eating. I love you more than life. I would die for you. You and the kid are the only two things in my life worth living for. How could I make love or have sex with or fuck another woman when I feel so strongly about someone else? How am I supposed to do that? 

But the elevator or lift or Charlie's great glass elevator or whatever the hell it is grinds to a halt after flying upwards and sideways maybe 60 or so stories. The doors open and I'm not ready. I step out of the elevator, heels clicking on the marble and I'm still not ready.  
  
Despite the huge apartment, my eyes land directly on the Red Queen, lounging on a spectacularly large, red and black silk-covered bed, and I am definitely not ready for this. Oh shit.

  
She’s beautiful. Frightening, but beautiful. Her eyes are silent assassins, roving over my body, my silky robe and down to bare thighs and bare legs and black strappy high heels.  
  
It seems that some fashions, however archaic and misogynistic, are still considered sexy. Even in other worlds. And don't get me wrong, if you were wearing this outfit, or even just a little bit of skimpy leather with some high heels, shit, I'd be all over you in a hot minute.  
  
But this is me, and this is the Red Queen, and definitely not you. She sits up from her sideways prone position, stands, and with a smirk, walks over towards me, bare feet padding across the marble floor. 

This has got to be the penthouse. Why wouldn't it be? She's the queen, and how this bizarre top story supports marble flooring I have no idea. I'm kind of wanting to throw myself out that floor to ceiling window to my right.  
  
"My, my," she says, her voice a cat-like purr. And it is a nice voice, don't get me wrong. Velvety and dripping with sex. Almost as nice as yours. Almost. And there's something strangely familiar about it, but I can't quite put my finger on it. "Pillar was right about you. You are one fine specimen."  
  
Pillar wasn't exactly forthcoming with his information about how I should behave around a Queen of Wonderland, but I figure, using all my nearly nonexistent  knowledge of movies and television shows concerning the British and others with royalty that I should behave like they do when in the presence of their royals.  
  
I avert my eyes, keeping my head bowed, and for a bizarre moment, I think I should do a curtsy. But I haven't the slightest idea how to even attempt one of those, so I leave that one out. My hands, I keep at my sides as she inches closer to me. Closer, closer still until she stops right in front of me. And with my heels, I'm taller than she is, but not by much.  
  
She's broad shouldered, well-muscled but slender, skin like freshly tilled earth, dark hair, green eyes, and jesus she smells heavenly. I chance a look at her face, get a good glimpse of her eyes and then down at her lips. They're full, very full. Her hands, when she sees my eyes trail over her face, go to my robe, peeling the lapels down, slowly, ever so slowly, and I'm sorry Regina, but this is too much. Her hands are incredible. I don't want her. I don't want this. But my body responds anyway. She peels the robe off my shoulders so that it pools at my feet and lets out a gasp.  
  
"You're breathtaking," she says, taking in my red leather and barely concealed body.  
  
  
"Uh, thank you," I say quietly, because I should probably say something, but I don't want to risk my nerves being completely shot to hell. Not that they already aren't.  
  
"Mmm," she says, biting that full bottom lip as she glances over towards a trunk near the door. Now that I've taken my eyes off of her, I can look around the room a bit. It's big, bigger certainly than any bedroom I've ever had. And by the looks of the bed and furniture, she's into some kinky bondage shit. 

Hooks and rings taunt me from the fortified metal bed with bars at both the head and foot. Several trunks and wardrobes are placed throughout the room, containing god knows what kinds of toys. I'm about to be in seriously way over my head here. I've never really even been tied up, much less been involved in serious bondage activities. Or dominant and submissive activities. Shit.  
  
Double shit. Because there’s something else. Does she have magic in here? I can taste it in the air. Metallic. Gritty.  
  
Her hand disappears briefly into her robe, pulls out a thin silvery wand, something ethereal and other-worldly and flits it toward that same trunk and it flies open. She definitely has magic.  
  
Fuck.  
  
But that's not the worst of my problems right now.   
  
From my vantage point across the room, I can't see inside that trunk yet, but I have a feeling whatever's in there can't be good for me. Maybe with other circumstances it could be good, with you alone in a cozy cabin in the woods maybe, but here with her: no.

I keep wondering when you will show up and rescue me. I might have to rescue myself from this situation, that is, if I really don't want to do sexual things with her. She is a queen, and I have a feeling that to say no to her would result in my being thrown in the dungeon, or worse, into the diamond mines. But our group wouldn't let that happen to me. Would they? You wouldn't for sure, but as for Rumple and Zelena, now that they've gotten what they want, now that Rumple has discovered that there's a cure for Neal and now that Zelena has Glinda, why wouldn't they just leave us here to die?  
  
The thought makes my blood run cold as I try to reign in my focus on the Red Queen. Her presence is overwhelming, now that I've ripped myself from my thoughts. She's close to me now, standing within breathing distance of me, certainly within touching distance. And touch me she does, reaching out slowly with the wandless hand to run it across my shoulder and down along the muscles of my upper arm. It tingles, almost like the electricity of your touch, but not quite. I shiver despite myself.  
  
"You have never been to the Red City before?" she asks, her voice low and her eyes searching my face. I avoid her gaze for as long as possible until curiosity gets the better of me. How can she know that? I might just be a person, a faceless nameless person in the city.  
  
I shake my head. My story is that I'm a farm-girl from the far reaches of the land. My family has run out of food and I've run out of options. The Circuit was my best chance. Wonderland is a big place. She can't possibly know every single person.

  
"From the Forest then?"  
  
I shake my head again.  
  
"Farmland?" A nod now and her face lights up.  
  
"Good," she grins. Not grins, but more like flashes her teeth dangerously. "I like farm girls and boys. Strong, rough hands," the wand disappears back into her robes as she reaches down and takes my hands in hers. 

She's right, my hands are work-roughened and calloused. I've been swinging axes and using shovels and killing zombies now for well over a year. She feels the dips and crevices of every single one and there's nothing more than I want than to say please, stop. Please don't touch me that way. 

Because it feels so wrong. It feels good, yes, but it's not you. And your touch is different, and that's what I want. But I have to stay quiet, I have to let her do this until it's time, until we can get her tied up and get to Alice.  
  
I hope you'll show up soon.  
  
"Yes, hands like these, and arms like this," she slides her hands up my forearms, squeezing them as she goes, up to my biceps, hands whispering over the turns in the muscle. "But your face is that of a princess. A princess much too beautiful to be working the land. "  
  
I shake my head and smile, because wow, she's right on the money, but has no idea. I was supposed to be. But I've never been a princess. Not really. I've had to bite and fight and scrape and kill just to stay alive in my world. Never once was I given the luxuries of a princess, even before the zombies.  
  
"Is it funny?" she asks, and I look up quickly into her eyes, wishing immediately that I hadn't. I shake my head, mesmerized by her entrancing eyes. They look impossibly familiar. But I've never seen her before.   
  
"No, it's just . . living in Farmland isn't easy. I'm the farthest from a princess that you'll ever meet. "  
  
"Hmm," she says, reaching out to stroke my face, wrapping that same hand around the back of my neck and pulling me closer. "We will see about that. I will treat you like you should have always been treated."  
  
Oh no, I think, because she's coming closer and closer and I don't want this. But then her lips are on mine and I'm sorry Regina, but she's a good kisser. Not as perfect as you, but good. Her tongue is in my mouth and she's hungry for more, opening my mouth and claiming it. I have to fake it, I can't just stand there with my hands at my sides like a bumpkin. Although, I am supposed to be from Farmland so maybe that's not such a terrible idea. I hesitantly put my hands on her waist, and I can feel her skin, warm and firm beneath her robe. 

She breaks the kiss and pushes me backwards, towards the bed, towards pushing this too far, towards getting all this leather off and towards getting her robe off and shit, this not good. I scramble back just as she topples me on to the bed, crawling backwards and away, letting the fear creep into my eyes.  
  
"What is the matter?" she practically growls, still smiling at me like a lion about to eat an innocent baby gazelle. Not that I'm particularly innocent but still. "You have never done this before?"  
  
Maybe that will get her to stop.  
  
I shake my head nervously.  
  
She pauses, backs away from the bed, frowning for a moment and then suddenly explodes into a rant, waving her hands emphatically and pacing in front of the bed. "Damn that Pillar. I told him specifically not to send me green ones. The first time is always crying and carrying on, going on about their childhood, where is my mummy, and bah!" she says with an eye roll. She really must have been taught by Cora because she has a lot of yours and Zelena's sass. Damn, Cora influenced some women, didn't she?  
  
The Red Queen thinks about it for a moment more, glances ruefully over at the still open trunk, and with a wave of her hand, closes it with a bang. Magically.  
  
She looks back at me, contemplating, her arms cross over her silk covered body, one finger scratching her chin thoughtfully.  
  
"On second thought," she murmurs, taking one knee up onto the bed. "You really are too delectable to let go. I do believe I will have you for the night and keep you around a while longer, my innocent little princess."  
  
Oh shit.  
  
"And not to mention . . .," she smiles again. This time she's leaning over and crawling towards me on the bed and I'm sorry again Regina but I do take a tiny peek at her cleavage. It is screaming at me. She moves nearer to me, close enough that I can feel her body heat and the tension of her throbbing, metallic magic. And then I almost miss what she says next, her voice hitting a deeper register.

Almost.

" . .Savior, the look on Regina's face when she sees you tied up on my bed will be . . . utterly . . . priceless."

Wait.

  
I can't think. Or react. All I can do is sit there and gape at her like the little goldfish that I am.  
  
What?  
  
And suddenly a whir of wind and heavy ropes are whooshing around me. The next thing I know, my hands are cuffed to the iron headboard above my bed and my legs are spread, ankles bound in leather which are chained somewhere beneath the bed. I'm entirely restrained and exposed now. 

Fuck.   
  
"How . . " I say eyes meeting hers for the first time now that I know that she knows who I am. "How did you know?"  
  
She shrugs innocently, wand back in hand and climbing closer to me until she's on top of me, straddling my hips and leaning down. Her mouth runs over my neck, tongue winding its way across my veins and down to my chest. Shit. That feels good. No!  
  
"Get the hell off me!" I yell, struggling against the bonds and trying to buck her off. She rides my motions like a professional, and when I stop finally, her fingernails dig into my ribs, pinching and cutting into my skin. A hiss escapes from my lips at the pain. Matching trickles of blood run down my sides and pool beneath me on her sheets. I wonder how many others have bled for her on this bed.   
  
"Oh Savior, I've known all along what your plan would be because there's a spy in your midst. One you trusted your entire time in Wonderland. But now I know all about your little plan, down to the last detail. For example," she glances over at the door straight across from the elevator. I thought it was the bathroom when I first came in. "I know that in about three seconds, the Dark Queen will come in, ready to rescue you and tie me up." 

She tuts at me, shaking her finger like I'm a small child needing to be reprimanded. 

And sure enough, the door slams open, and you burst forth, fireballs blazing and your eyes go wide at the sight before you. Me with another woman on top. Well, this isn't going to end well, I think. But what I should have done was yell out a warning to you, because with a wave of her wand, your fireballs are extinguished and replaced with two heavy metal cuffs. I don't think your eyes could go any wider.

  
"What the . . " you say and the Red Queen has thrown her leg off of me and over the bedside, landing agilely on the floor, and taking the five or six steps necessary to reach you.  
  
"Perfect timing, dearest Regina," the Red Queen says, reaching out to stroke your face. You cringe away from her, eyes flitting back and forth between me and this Queen, the muscle at your jaw working furiously through clenched teeth. 

"You were expecting me?"  
  
The Red Queen nods. "I was expecting both of you. And your waiting soldiers downstairs, just itching to storm the castle. I know all about it."  
  
You glance at me and I try to shrug from my helpless position.  
  
"There's a spy, apparently," I say, trying to be helpful.

"You are absolutely right about that," the Red Queen says, leaning around you to peer in the elevator. She waves the wand and Pillar floats out, ropes all around him, mouth gagged as well. Pillar? A spy for her too? 

She moves towards the immobile and midair man, his eyes wide and startled. "A double-crossing double crosser. You just thought he was with you, didn't you?" The Red Queen grins at us, stopping in front of him and plunging her free hand suddenly into his chest. 

For such a violent act, one that should be shocking no matter the number of times one has seen or experienced, it really doesn't shock me all that much. And, knowing the Pillar had betrayed us, I can't feel bad for him either. I know how it feels, but at the same time, I hadn't completely deserved it. She rips the glowing heart from his chest and holds it reverently, eyes glowing with greed and power. 

"Ah yes," she says over Pillar's muffled gasps around his gag. "I'll save this for later." 

  
With a snap of her fingers, a small box flies towards her and stops, opening up to reveal an empty space. The Red Queen places the heart inside, ignoring Pillar's grimacing face, and with another snap, the box flies over to a side table, a quiet heartbeat finding its stuttering cadence inside. 

We have to get out of here. It's like Cora all over again, and when I look over at you, I know you're thinking the same thing. Your face is ashen, eyes wide and I can see your trembling from all the way over here. And the Red Queen now has her sights set on you. 

"Damn it," you say when she turns and I love it when you curse, but I'd love it even more if you could get us out of here. But it doesn't look like you'll be able to with those cuffs on your hands. Magic suppressing I'm betting. And sure enough, when I glance down at your hands, you're flexing them experimentally, and no fireballs are coming about. 

I try to summon my own magic against the cuffs on my hands, but nothing happens. Not that I could do much more than explode the entire room anyway. If I could just make something huge happen like it did last time my family was threatened. But nothing happens.   
  
"That's right," the Red Queen jeers at both of us. "The only magic you will see in here is mine. Your mother taught me well, Regina. Now tell me, what did she teach you?"  
  
You don't say anything, simply fix the Red Queen with your deadliest glare and good for you. But I'm mistaken, you're ready to speak, ready to lash out at this newest Cora-trainee. "My mother taught me about power and the greed that follows closely behind. And you seem to have learned that lesson well."  
  
The Red Queen smiles, shrugs and turns from you, clapping her hands twice to the side. Right away, two guards march in from the hallway I entered just off the elevator, dressed in all red and standing at attention.  
  
"Take these two down to the dungeons. They will await executions at noon with the girl. I'll have both of their hearts as well. So much power in magic-users."  
  
The guards slam their heels together as a salute. One marches towards you and other towards me. I can feel his eyes roving over my almost naked, leather strapped body. Shit. This isn't going to be a fun experience. The guard unhooks the shackles from the bed and wrenches me to my feet, leading me to stand next to you in the middle of the room.

"What about him?" I ask, inclining my head towards Pillar because she's still got him tied up and she took his heart, and now he's passed out from the pain, but why would she do that to him if he's really on her side? 

"What about him?" The Red Queen retorts, nodding to the guards. They pull him from floating to the ground in a heap of ropes. "I don't like turncoats any more than you do. If he'll turn his back on his people, he'll eventually turn his back on me."   
  
The Red Queen looks me up and down regretfully.  
  
"I do wish I had more time with you, Princess. Perhaps at noon, I'll change my mind and have you brought back up for some fun. Now that there are no more uncertainties about who you are and who you've slept with." She glances at you disdainfully.  
  
"You won't lay a hand on her," you spit, pushing against the guards to get at the Red Queen.

"Oh, Regina. I will do as I please," she says with a grin. "Enjoy the dungeons and those handcuffs. And best of luck with your magic.  
  
And with that, the guards usher us to the elevator, the great glass elevator which flies down down down until the air is filled with the smell of the Casino again.  
  
Shit. The plan has just gone to shit and there's no one to warn everyone else.


	28. Chapter 28

 

The guards take us down, down even farther into the Casino and we can see the people milling about at tables and slot machine type areas, and there might as well be drool dripping from their mouths, as zombie like as they are. They're just playing the games, hoping to win big, but the house always wins. How can it not when a tyrant is in charge of the Casino? 

People don't even look up as the guards drag us past, Pillar, awake but limp without his heart, me in my leather and skin and you in your black cloak, struggling and cursing the entire way. This must be an everyday occurrence, someone refusing to go on the Circuit, someone losing at a high stakes game, someone standing up to the Queen's laws. No one cares what's happening to us. No one even knows who we are. We're dragged past the tables and towards the back of the castle, towards a set of doors that leads to who knows where.

The rage in your eyes when I look over at you is close to bubbling over. I know exactly how much you want to light this entire place on fire. But several yards before they drag us through the back double doors, I see a bunch of knaves questioning someone, surrounding him.

It's O'Hare.

He looks our way, eyes roving at all the noise we're making and his eyes widen at the sight of us. He didn't think it would go this way, probably. But the knaves continue to yell at him and he simply smiles that crazy smile and says something we can't hear, inclines his head towards us and the knaves stop their questioning and back off.

Whatever he said, it got him out of trouble. Could _he_ have also alerted the Red Queen of our presence here? Who can we trust? Shit. You're watching him too, and then we're into the double doors and heading down a hallway that slopes into the earth. It's becoming more and more dank and damp and the modern tiles and wood are replaced with stones and water dripping and moss and smells that are pretty gross.

The stones lead us to a set of spiraling stairs that go down farther and farther into the earth, or the mountain side. Wherever the hell we are.  It feels small down here, claustrophobic. Like the ground and walls are going to collapse in on us. We go even lower, and to what exactly I have no idea. More cells? More torture chambers? The other side of the world? But eventually, the guards toss Pillar inside one door, lock it and then open up a different door and it takes us through to a cell block.

You're thrown into one of the cells and I'm tossed in across from you. Actually tossed. I land on my ribs and hip and the breath is knocked clear out of me. I can hear you muttering something about murdering these soldiers with your bare hands as soon as you can access your magic. They just laugh and lock the cell doors, swinging their keys and leaving the way they came, back through the door down the hall, which they lock and either go up or down the stairs, I can't tell. But wherever they went, they've left us alone. So this place must be pretty secure.

"Regina," I whisper into the dimly lit gloom outside my cell. There's a single glowing light in each cell, powered by diamonds or people's souls, I dunno which. I can hear you shuffle closer to the bars, and I can just make out the outline of your features. If they had just put us closer together, we could have figured a way out of this. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," you say. But you don't sound fine. This was not the way this was supposed to happen. We needed to beat the Red Queen quickly, get Glinda and Zelena to go back with us to the Enchanted Forest and save our son before the sun sets tomorrow. But I don't know if that's going to happen now.

"What are we gonna do?" I ask, because sometimes you have a plan, or an idea, or at least you know some spells that might could help us out of here.

"I don't know. They took my bag, and yours was with Pillar."

I cut you off. "Pillar. I can't believe him. And O'Hare, did you see him talking with the knaves?"

"Yes, I did. Do you think he's another spy?"

"Probably. We should have been more careful about who we trusted, I guess."

"She ripped his heart out," you say, your voice cold and distant. I can only imagine what's going through your mind. Still fresh memories of Cora? Reminders of what you'd done with hearts during your reign? Even recently? Regret that no matter how much you tried not to slide down that slope, you ended up being far too similar to your mother than you'd ever intended.

"Regina," I say, but it's just instinct to try and console and support. I don't actually know what to say.

"What?" You snap, and it startles me. It's been a while since you used that biting tone with me. "Am I supposed to feel better that it's not me? That I'm not the one ripping out hearts anymore? Well, I don't feel better. I should have been able to stop her."

Oh. "It's my fault, Regina," I say quietly. "I should have warned you that she was ready for you."

"It's not your fault," you say angrily. "I hesitated. When I saw you tied up on the bed, I panicked. I froze. And now we're stuck here and time is running out and Pillar doesn't have a heart."

And I can see that you're angrier with yourself than anything. Being in love with someone and having to worry about keeping them safe will do that to a person.

 "Well, maybe he doesn't deserve to have a heart after betraying us," I say, even though I don't mean it. Not having a heart is a horrible thing. "What I don't get still is why she would punish him for being on her side? Even if he was a traitor, he'd shown his loyalty. It doesn't make sense to me."

"I agree. She's the kind of ruler who would normally reward that kind of behavior. And I wonder why Pillar was so adamant about me having this cake and potion," you say, and I can hear you rummaging around in your pockets. I can hear the rustle of your clothing as you search for them. It's probably not easy with your hands shackled together.

"They didn't say what it was for though?"

"No, but perhaps it could be useful."

"Regina, no, it's probably poison. He's the traitor and there's no way anything good will happen if you eat it."

There's silence from your cell. Yelling from you is bad. Fireballs are bad. Vines and purple smoke and flashing dark eyes are bad. But silence is the worst.

"Regina?"

But all I get in response is a muffled gurgle and on my end, here it comes - panic. Damn you. Why would you do that? An all I can hear is more silence. More silence and a roaring in my ears. You're probably lying on the filthy floor of this dungeon, dying a painful death from poisoning and I'm stuck over here with no way out and there's nothing I can do about it.

"Regina, answer me. Please. Please say something!"

More panic.

"HELP!" I yell, hoping someone will hear and do something. At least maybe I can get someone's attention and they'll pop their head in. It's fruitless I know, but I have to try. "SOMEBODY HELP!" But there's nothing. No one is listening. Or no one cares. There's nothing I can do.

Or is there?

I grip the bars, arms flexing, palms tightening around the iron, rubbing against my callouses. My magic is somewhere in there . . . somewhere. I just have to access it. And I can feel it. Somewhere in there - deep in my tissues and tendons and cells - it tingles. But I can also feel that it's not enough. The combination of these cuffs and being out of range from your touch is too much to overcome.

A gasp rips itself from my lungs at the exertion, sending me to the floor. Shit.

Anger: that's all I can feel. My desperation has morphed into helpless anger and there's nothing I can do. These fucking bars won't even rattle when I shake them! My hands fall uselessly into my lap and then tumble to the gritty stone beneath me.

Unbidden, here come the tears, as usual when I'm frustrated and emotional. My head rests gently against the bars and I have to resist the urge to slam it repeatedly against the metal. That won't help anybody. Especially not you. If you're even still alive that is.

And it's right about then that I feel a tickling at my wrists and a tapping at my legs. My bare legs mind you because I'm still in that skimpy little leather number. And there's a strange glow warming my skin. Great, I think, eyes still closed and imagining the worst. Now I probably have talking bugs crawling over me and they're just caught me on fire. But then there's a click and another glow, this one bigger and more electric, and it . .  the air fills with the smell of something familiar. Your magic.

It smells and tastes like your magic. Our magic.

My eyes fly open.

Six impossible things before breakfast is an understatement. There you are, tiny little Regina, Barbie-doll size, pulling ineffectively at my cuffs. Holy shit. You are fucking tiny.

"Emma, you're going to have to help break your shackles using your magic. Mine isn't powerful enough by itself," you say in a small, squeaky voice. You don't look up at me, but if you did I'm sure you would see my eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"Okay," I lick my lips nervously because my magic is suppressed and it didn't work just then when I was desperate and needy, and I'm not sure it will work now. But you're here. You're okay, and you're going to help me. "What do I do?"

"Just focus on the metal. Let your mind slip inside the bonds that hold them together. Channel your energy into the bonds. See them breaking in your mind. You are fully capable of doing this."

"Okay," I say uncertainly, because little stuff like this, stuff that requires me to focus and meditate and be calm and still and quiet is not my strong suit. I was that kid in school who got in trouble every day for being unable to sit still and focus and complete an assignment in one go. But right now I can do it. I have to do it. With you, I can do it.

I can feel your skin contacting mine, like a butterfly landing on my skin. Okay, now or never. I close my eyes, forcing my mind to concentrate on the metal, the magic winding its way through the cracks and crevices, wedging through the very atoms and prying them apart, creating space between their particles, seeing it glow white hot and break free in my mind's eye. I focus on it, focus on it, willing it with all I have to happen, and then my hands start burning and a white flash arcs across my closed eyes. I open them and stare down in astonishment. My shackles bounce free.

I did it. You're still small though. I don't want you to be GI Joe size forever. But with your potion, you don't stay like that for long. It doesn't matter though. I'll never forget what you looked like as a miniature action figure. A glug of the liquid, another moment and a grunt and there you sit, fully regrown to your normal size but now in my cell, right before my eyes and squished up next to the steel bars with me, wiping your mouth of the potion with one hand and running a hand over my cheek with the other.  And we're both unshackled.

You give my cheek a delicate little pat, which really isn't so delicate, and smirk at me, eyes twinkling as they do when you're right and I'm wrong.

"Well, dear, it wasn't poison, was it?"

I have to close my eyes, take a deep breath. I thought you were dead, dying, something horrible was happening and I couldn't help you. I felt helpless. And now you're rubbing in my face that you were right all along.

"Damn it, Regina!" I say angrily, unable to tamp down my emotions.

"What?" you frown.

"You couldn't have known whether Pillar was on our side or not. You couldn't have known what that potion was gonna do to you. I thought something bad happened over there and I was stuck in here with no way to help!" My voice breaks at the end of my rant, but it's not my fault. You scared me. "I don't want to lose you," I finish softly.

Your hand comes back to my cheek, softer now, caressing it, followed by your other hand. I look up into your eyes, and they're softer too. "I'm sorry, Emma. I am. But I felt desperate. We needed a way out of here and that seemed like our last and best hope before the Red Queen came to get us for execution."

I nod. You're right, of course. But that doesn't change the fact that you did something crazy reckless. "Okay, then we won't waste any more time," I say, pushing myself to my feet, flexing my now-freed wrists and feeling what minimal magic I have here course back through my skin. "Where to next?"

You stand with me, dusting yourself off. Queenly, as usual. "We need to find Alice and get back to Glinda."

Right. More magic is coming up I'm betting. 

"Let's break out of this, shall we?" you say with a smile and take my hand. The surge is as heady as usual, addictive, and another spark flies through the air to the cell door, shooting through the lock and slamming the door open.

\---------------

We move past the room they tossed Pillar into, thinking we can come back to him later and try farther down the stairs. Down and down we go, and I'm starting to get dizzy, passing all the doors and winding down the stairs. We pass another group of doors, no different than the rest, at first. But then, just as we pass it, a strange glimmer appears, almost nonexistent, but I can still sense it. Magic. I stop abruptly and you slam into my back, spluttering noisily. 

"What the hell, Emma?" you demand and I hold my hand out, pointing towards the door. 

You move closer to it, examining it and holding your own hands out. "There's strong magic here. Or was," you say quietly, glancing back at me with an impressed expression. I rarely get that from you. What a day! "Well done for noticing it." 

"Thanks," I say, stepping up behind you. "You think the Red Queen might have stashed Alice in here?" 

"Maybe. That could explain the slightly hidden door and magic fields. And not even a good one. If there's one thing I'm superior to the Red Queen at, it's cloaking spells," you say haughtily, grabbing my arm and waving a hand at the lock. It springs open, followed by the door. We move forward into the semi-darkness, the only light coming from a single torch casting its yellow glow from the middle of the room. The room itself seems empty except for a barred cell at the far end cloaked in pitch black emptiness. 

"Alice?" I whisper, sort of afraid something is going to pop out and try to eat me. Zombies will do that to a person. 

"Hello? Who is it?" I jump about a foot in the air as a voice from the only cell in the room echoes across the stones. A familiar voice. Not Alice's voice, though. 

"It's Regina and Emma. Who's there?" you say into the darkness and I'm not sure how smart it is to give our names away so soon, but anyway, I tiptoe towards the cell, trying to peer inside. But it's much too dark. And we need to be careful. This could be another trap.

"I am Glinda, the White Witch of the North, formerously of the Uplands in Oz and presentously the White Queen of Wonderland," the voice says and I tilt my head to the side, open my mouth in confusion.

"They caught you? How?" Both of us speak at the same time. This day just keeps getting worse and worse. "I thought you were supposed to be setting an ambush for the Red Queen?"

Glinda harrumphs from inside the cell, moving towards our voices. "I do not know what either of you are talking about, but one of your names is familiarous to me. Regina. As in . . . Cora's daughter, Regina?"

"Wait a second," I say, meeting the darkened shadow of your face. "You don't know us? We just talked to you, you brought us to the Casino. We stayed in your castle."

"The Red Queen could have performed a memory spell on her," you say to me.

"No, that was not me," Glinda says, and I can just make out the outline of her silhouette. No details, though. If it really is Glinda. "And my memory is just fine, thank you kindly. Alas, I wonderated what she had been doing in my absence. Now I know. But I certainly did not think it would be this disastrifous."

"What the hell are you talking about?" you demand, because the voice is the same but the tone is different, more desolate, not as sassy, but still somehow a beacon of hope, even if she doesn't mean for it to be. It's different than it was before. And those words.

"Anastasia, the Red Queen, her forces capturated me around a month ago as I was out riding near the old Animal Village. The knaves discoverated me. I have been locked in here ever since. Whoever you met with in my castle would have to be the Red Queen disguisified as me, and with my wand. She has more magic now, thanks to that, you know."

No. That can't be. A month? But we met Glinda. And we met the Red Queen too. They're different people, right? Right?

Well, that's the first we've heard her name anyway. Anastasia. But there's no way the Red Queen pulled one over on us like that. And Alice and Pillar and Ches and fucking everyone. No way.

"Yes, we've experienced her magic," you say and my thoughts fly back to what you're thinking of, me tied to that bed and you helpless and shackled at a wave of the Red Queen's wand and Pillar's heart leaving his chest. It's not easy being in a different land where your powers don't work as well. You might be ahead of me in the logical turn of events department. "So it was her the whole time. That's how she knew the exact plan. It was her plan."

"She could have had help," Glinda adds. "It is difficult to know whose side anyone is on."

She's right about that. And anyway how do we know she's not some looney toon nobody who's been locked down here for ages and is just pulling our legs?

"Meaning Pillar?" You ask.

"Perhaps, although I doubt he is traitoriforous. He has been loyal to the Resistance from the beginning."

"But the Red Queen could have bought his loyalty completely with drugs, and besides, the Queen has taken his heart and locked him up," you argue.

"Perhaps he could be on her side. Although it seems she would rather have him locked up than use him for her henchman duties. That tells me he is not on her side. By the way, how is Alice?" new Glinda asks, her voice drawn and tired. Okay then, maybe she's not pulling our legs. She does sound nutty though; and seriously, what the hell is with her words?

"Alice," I say slowly, because if this Glinda's been in here for a month, then some other things make sense. No wonder Ches said the other Glinda had been acting weird, and no wonder Zelena thought something was up when they first reunited. Jesus. Of course they would know something was wrong about the whole situation. And we just ignored them. I even ignored my own instincts. I knew there was something familiar about the Red Queen, the way she watched me hungrily, as fake Glinda and as Anastasia both.

You answer for the both of us. "Alice was captured last night, and that is why we're here trying to storm the castle and get her back."

"Captured?" Glinda gasps, and I can hear the heartbreak in her voice. Well, now it sounds like this could be the real Glinda, but how can we be sure?

"Yes, captured. And now that we know there's been double crossing on both sides, can you prove to us that you're on our side and that you're really Glinda?" I ask because I really don't want to get blindsided again. This is getting to be too much. After the zombies and the pirate and the magical woman and getting my memories back then traveling by boat and being transported by silver slippers which is pretty much Floo Powder and magical sleeping apples and sand clocks and then all of this Wonderland bullshit, this is really getting to be too much.

"Of course," new Glinda says, and I can hear her rustling around, probably shuffling closer to the bars. "What can I do to make you believe me?"

Good thing you're here. The brains of the operation, the calculating logic. I'm all guts and instinct. Not so good with the chess games.

"The other Glinda seemed to know who Zelena was, but ultimately wanted nothing to do with her," you say slowly. "Only the real Glinda would know about Zelena's back story, about her real family and how she discovered her magic."

A deep breath from the next cell. "Zelena is  _here_?" Her voice breaks at the last word and I can hear a slipping of shoes and a thwump as something hits the floor.

"Yes," you say, almost impatiently. I know you're trying to hold back, but we've been through this with the other Glinda and our time is running low. "She brought us with her from the Enchanted Forest to search for you. Now tell us about her so we can believe you."

But we have to wait, because there's sobbing from inside the cell. I guess when you've lost your lover for thirty years, you can have a little bit of time to cry about finally getting the chance to see her again.

Eventually Glinda catches her breath and there's more rustling. Maybe she's standing back up. "Zelena and I met at school. She was green, and unpopular and bookish and always getting into fights with students who picked on her. Especially me. I was the exactly opposite of her: wildly companionable and stylish and knowledgeable about everything important to do with politics and social situations. But eventualishly we found common ground when the Animals started to lose their rights and their voices. And somehow we fell in love."

There's a pause, where Glinda must be thinking about that time. She goes on. "Even when Rumpelstiltskin showed up, flipped her life upside down and showed her other worlds and powerful objects, I knew deep down she was still good, still adamant about fighting for Animal rights and unitifying the four Ozian territories. But Zelena said it was you who changed her, Regina. You and Rumpelstiltskin’s other child, Baelfire. She couldn't stand the thought that you two had her parents' love and affection while she had been dumped, unwanted in Oz.

"And that Rumpelstiltskin chose you to enactify the Dark Curse, it tore Zelena up. I cannot for the life of me figure out why, because enactifying the curse would have been terrible for Zelena. But still, not being chosen meant Rumple wanting to take back his gifts and favors and aid, and that meant bad things pertaining to power and who deserved to have most of it between the Wizard and Zelena and me. And then the curse hit, the cyclone came, and I was gone."

"Well," you say thoughtfully. "That's remarkably close to the story Zelena showed me. I suppose it's just not likely the Red Queen could have known all of that."

"And now, what about Alice?"

"We've brought a small army to win her back, and we're going to free you as well and defeat the Red Queen."

"A small army, you say? Is Ches leadifying it?"

"Yes, Ches seems to know quite a bit about military strategies."

"Good. But I still do not understand why you are here, Regina, and . . I do apologize, what did you say your name was?"

"I'm Emma."

"Emma, a lovely name. Yes, why are you here helpifying our cause? And Regina, however did you manage to escape Cora? She left this place to find you."

I want to let out a derisive snort, but it's still a sore subject. Cora dying, you being torn up about whether or not that was for the best, which it was in my opinion. I'm sorry, Regina but she wasn't good for you. She was an evil lady who forced you into some really bad situations in your life. I hate for you to have gone through that, but I really do think it was for the best that she's gone. You know that already though, I'm pretty sure.

"That's a long story we can discuss later," you say, and that's the understatement of the year, but you go on. "But like you mentioned already, I cast the curse for the Dark One."

"Yes," Glinda says. "Zelena saw it all in her looking glass."

"Right. But were you aware that Zelena went searching for you when my curse's after effects took you away?"

"She did?" Glinda asks. Everything we say about Zelena seems to leave her breathless. She continues, answering her own question. "Yes, of course she did, but she never came to Wonderland: why is that? In thirty years, why didn't she travel here to find me?"

My chest expands as I breathe deeply. I thought we had already gotten through this before, but it turns out all that was a fake. "She did look. All over Oz and then the Enchanted Forest and got stuck there without strong enough magic to get out while we were all in the Land without Magic."

"What?" Glinda asks, but there's so much to explain and maybe Zelena can do a better job than we can.

"What matters is that she looked for you. But when I showed back up to the Enchanted Forest after another curse brought us back almost a year ago, she confronted me about the effects of my curse and then tricked me into helping her find you."

"Tricked you?" A pause, and Glinda contemplates her blinding love. "Yes, she can be headstrong and ruthless sometimes in her methods."

"Ruthless, yes. She sent a pack of infectious undead into the Land without Magic where Emma and our son were living without memory of any of their previous lives, and those undead killed or infected thousands of the inhabitants there. When I heard about what she'd done, I had to go back and see if my son had made it. And Emma."

I smile at you through the dark but I doubt you can see it. Glinda continues to listen quietly. "Zelena put a sleeping curse on Snow White and Prince Charming, Emma's parents, and said the only person who could save them was Emma. So I had to restore Emma's memory and bring her back to try and revive them before their time ran out."

"You came back and tried to wake them from the sleeping curse, and then what happened?" Glinda asked, but her tone is knowing.

"It didn't work," I say. "Whatever curse she put on them needed a different kind of antidote. And then she cursed Henry too for good measure, made him take a bite of an apple and it put him to sleep. Said that the real antidote was within you."

A sigh from inside the dark cell and I can hear a small thud. Maybe her head hitting the bars. "She is right. I am the only antidote. It was a spell from her Grimmerie, was it not?"

"Her spell book?" you ask and Glinda says yes.

"It's a very particular brand of sleeping spell that is cast using True Love magic, but not the sort that your worlds are used to. No, this sort needs the True Love of the person who cast it in order to break the curse."

"Complicates things, doesn't it?" you say and Glinda lets out a derisive laugh.

"She did all of that just to force you to help find me?"

"I think she felt trapped, cornered, and very alone," you say.

"Probably desperate too," I add, because why else would someone who was previously a pretty good person, just trying to fight for what's right in their world and keep things from spiraling into chaos, resort to such extreme tactics just to get people to help her? Maybe she went a little crazy.

"She also mentioned something about another antidote to the undead infection in the Land without Magic."

I can hear a clucking noise, not quite chicken-like, but almost, from the next cell. She must be thinking. "It might be possible. The dead were revived using their hearts, I presume?" Glinda asks.

"Yes, an old trick of my mother's."

"I know," Glinda mutters, almost to herself more than anything. "She taught Anastasia many of her tricks before leaving for the Enchanted Forest."

A pause, full of everyone thinking of Cora and what she'd done to all these worlds. At least that's what I'm thinking about. "It is possible. But its synthesis would require a few rare ingredients and quite a bit of powerful magic. It will also be exceedingly dangerous. Even our combined magic might not be enough."

"We've got plenty of combined magic though," I say. "Regina, me to an extent, Rumple, Zelena, you, " I take a breath. "And not to mention the Dark One is pretty much the hoarder of all things that are rare magical ingredients.

"Then it might be possible," Glinda says. "Which is a good thing because otherwise I will have to stranglify that Zelena with my bare hands," Glinda grits through her teeth. She might be joking, it's hard to tell, but I'd imagine she's angry with Zelena. Thousands of people have died and many more are suffering because of her. We all are angry with her. 

"Okay, then" I say brightly because things are looking up just a little bit. Except for the fact that the real Glinda is definitely still inside that jail cell and we have no idea what's happening with the rest of our crew. Or Alice. It could be getting close to execution time. And that is supposed to mean our execution. Shit, I forgot about that. 

If she catches us again, the fucking Red Queen could kill you and Alice in front of me and I would have to watch and then she would take me and have her evil way with me. We gotta get out of here, and now.

We give Glinda's cell door the same treatment we gave ours. Glinda glides forward from the small, dank space and wow, she really doesn't look anything like the other Glinda. Aside from the same almost translucently pale skin, this one is malnourished and dirty and not at all like Glinda the Good Witch from the movies and books. But really it's me getting the up and down look of judgement from her.

Strange.

"Goodness!" she says in her high pitched voice, eyes widening in alarm at my body. "Were you on the Circuit, you poor woman?"

I look down at myself and shrug, past the point of wanting to cover myself. "It was part of the other Glinda's plan. Sent directly to the Red Queen."

An almost comical gasp. "I would never! She must have had you picked out from the beginning."

Yeah I guess she did. A blush creeps over my neck and face and I'm glad for the dim light. I can just feel you rolling your eyes next to me, and then you squeeze my hand for added power as you wave me through a cloud of purple smoke, restoring my regular clothes and sword and bag as well as your own. You look over at Glinda and raise an eyebrow, silently asking if she wants the same treatment.

A quick nod and those bright blue eyes flutter closed. "Yes, please!"

One more wave of purple smoke and Glinda is given leather breeches and a shimmering blue shirt.

"Ah, Glinda-fied," Glinda says giving herself a little once over, even though she can barely see the colors. At least she's clean again, probably for the first time in a month. What an interesting woman.

"Now, let's go find Alice and then get your wand back. We can find Pillar later," I say, looking at the door and wondering where to start. "There's gotta be another jail cell down here or . . I dunno, where else would they keep Alice?" I ask you and Glinda.

"We didn't pass any other doors on our way down here. It's either in a different part of the castle or farther down," you say.

"Farther down, I think is the best option," Glinda says. "The Red Queen might keep more dangerible prisoners deeper underground."

"Okay, then let's go," I nod. Even though, damn it, we're pretty dangerible too. Damn her. Dangerous. But Alice would probably kill someone with her bare hands, no questions asked. But just as we make it to the door and begin to magic our way through it, it slams back open towards us. We jump back in alarm.

And look who it is.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 


	29. Chapter 29

 

_"Okay, then let's go," I nod. Even though, damn it, we're pretty dangerible too. Damn her. Dangerous. But Alice would probably kill someone with her bare hands, no questions asked. But just as we make it to the door and begin to magic our way through it, it slams back in our faces. We jump back, stunned._

_And look who it is._

_\-----------------------------_

"Halloo, haloo. Just came by to see ye. Now what in th' world are ye three doin' all th' way down here?" 

It's O'Hare. What the hell is _he_ doing down here? I ask him that, thinking he's way lost.

"Ah was just comin' by to help. Oh yes, I certainly was. An' ye were lookin' for Alice, ye say, well, she's right this way, oh yes, right this way. Ye seem to have missed a door on yer way down," O'Hare says, eyes wide and wandering like they do. 

But seriously. What the hell is he doing down here? He wasn't a part of our attacking party, but come to think of it, I can't remember when he separated himself from us when we left Pillar's cave yesterday. 

Was it before we got to the Castle of Hearts, was it after? And just what was he saying to those knaves upstairs?  Shit. I shrug and follow him. Hopefully he's with us. He was with Ches to begin with so maybe it's all right. Maybe when we saw him chatting with the knaves it was no big deal.

"Yes, " he says. "Right this way."

He makes an abrupt turn to the left and opens a door that I, sure enough, didn't see on our way down here. It looks just like the wall. He slams the door wide open, eyes rolling practically back in his head as he booms out. 

"Aha, yes! They're tryin' to escape, pounce my wee laddies, pounce." 

  
And wouldn't you know it, it's the knaves in their own private break room. And now they know exactly where we are and that we've escaped and now we know that O'Hare is the fucking traitor. 

Son of a bitch! 

He hops out of my way just as I reach for him. But he's no match for your fireball. You lob one at him and it singes his fur. He yelps and grabs his bottom where the fabric has been turned away and his fur is on fire. But right now, O'Hare is the least of our worries, because now the guards are after us. 

"Shit!" I cry. "Let's go down." 

Glinda is in the lead. She takes the steps two at a time, and you and I are hot on her heels, following down and down and down and I'm getting dizzy again at all the turns we're making. The knaves are close behind us but soon I can see a door up ahead. We make it there just in time.

This is actually the last door, seeing as how the stairs end here. We must be at least 200 or 300 feet below the surface now. Maybe more. It's difficult to gauge depth. I burst through the door, my magic, thanks to your touch, surging through the lock easily. It's a cell block just like the one that held Glinda. And in it is, wouldn't you guess it? A short, muscular woman with shockingly white, spiky hair and eyes that could kill with one piercing glare. She jumps to her feet and rushes to the bars.

Alice.   
  
"Alice, my darling. My sweet girl. Are you well?" Glinda shoots forward, the first one to reach her.   
  
Alice nods, touches Glinda through the bars. "It is really you this time, isn't it?" 

  
"Yes, dear, it is me. The other Glinda was a farce. It was the Red Queen the entire time."   
  
"I _knew_ something was wrong. I knew it! The Red Queen disguised herself as you and tricked me last night!" she hisses, and Glinda nods. "She has been tricking all of us for a long time hasn't she? I knew something was wrong!"  
  
"Uh," I interupt. "We don't have much time. O'Hare is not with us either."   
  
"Right then," Glinda says, beckoning both of us forward. We hold hands and you work your spell.

Bam! The cell door flies forward and Alice rushes to the front, ready for battle.   
  
"Wait!" you cry and Alice turns abruptly on her heel, almost wiping out on the floor. You grasp me again for power and wave your hand. A cloud of purple smoke and Alice is fully outfitted to fight. Her bow and arrows, short sword and perfectly tailored armor are all in place.   
  
"Let us be swift and sure in our fight," Alice says with a nod of thanks to you and she runs towards the door just as the second door in as many minutes bursts open in our faces.

The knaves.

We retreat farther into the room, but the knaves don't faze Alice. She dodges a spear, flying sideways and rolling back up to her feet. The knaves continue hurling spears and letting their arrows fly at us from the doorway. Our only cover is the mattress and chair from the cell. That's enough to piss Alice off. Not only the knaves trying yet again to capture all of us, but the fact that she spots O'Hare in the background doesn't help matters for him.

"O'Hare!" she screams, picking up her chair and hauling it like she's been weight lifting her entire life. It flings from her hands, smacking the nearest knave in the head and knocking them off their feet. "I trusted you!"

Well, that's not good for him either. Maybe he contributed to Alice getting caught in the first place. Besides that the Red Queen knew what Alice was up to. You and I share a wide-eyed exchange at her blood wrath and quickly follow in her footsteps, combining our magic to head off spears and throw the other guards off their feet. They begin to retreat towards the door.   
  
"Traitor!" Alice yells, avoiding yet another spear, pulling arrows from her quiver like a madwoman. She returns fire and it's like the Fourth of July. Without the fireworks, but with all the awesome flashy show. She fells every single knave in her sight within the next twenty seconds.

Seeing that he's now unsupported and about to be completely surrounded by magical warrior women, O'Hare bounds up the stairs, hoping to avoid Alice's wrath, but unfortunately for him, she catches up.

\------------------------------------

Alice tosses O'Hare back in to the dungeon, spits at his feet and then her eyes fall on the rest of us.   
  
"Are you coming or not?"   
  
I shake my head to clear it of cobwebs. Wow. And then I nod my agreement. Yes, of course we're coming. I wouldn't want to be in Wonderland at all without this woman. She is a warrior and a force to be reckoned with. But there's no time to stand around gaping like fish.   
  
We sprint all the way back up the stairs and my Rule #1 is coming in handy again. Gasping for breath as we near the top, I realize that there are more guards heading our way. I'm sure the Red Queen has plenty of knaves to take on all of us, plenty of poor souls who would rather serve her than go into the Circuit or play in the Casino, or worse yet, venture into the mines.   
  
The double doors leading back into the Casino loom in front of us, we've made it there with no trouble. And then suddenly:  
  
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.  
  
"What the hell was that?" I ask, because that was definitely not the knaves. That was something much, much worse.   
  
Another BOOM, this one a little different sounds from the other side of the Casino and the air on that side clouds with smoke. Screaming patrons stream towards the exits. Everyone wants to get the hell out, they're panicked and crying and pushing each other. And just at that moment, when all the people are trying to evacuate and there's a terrible large and scary noise disrupting the entire palace, Ches, Rumple, Zelena and the soldiers emerge from the billowing smoke, wide-eyed and with knaves hot on their tail.   
  
But more importantly, the knaves don't necessarily seem to be in pursuit. Instead it looks more like they're running _away_ from something.   
  
Rumple catches sight of us standing at the double doors.   
  
"It's the Bandersnatch!" he yells, sprinting past us. Glinda makes a choked noise next to me. Probably at having truly seen Zelena for the first time in 30 years, seeing as the other reunion wasn't actually the real Glinda. Or maybe she's scared of the Bander snatchifying her. I don't know. But there's no time for that. We have to take off in a hurry to keep up with them, to stay out of the way of whatever the hell it is that's chasing everyone. Whatever a Bandersntach is. 

  
And then I see it, emerging from the smoke and bounding, dog-like towards us, drooling great lines of yellow spit with yellow teeth and yellow eyes. And an enormous, several elephant-sized grey body. Holy shit.   
  
I sprint faster, feeling you, Glinda, and Alice surge next to me.   
  
We've got to get out of this thing's way. But it's dead set on us. Being dead that is.

\---------------------------

There's no time to get reacquainted, but I leave Glinda and Zelena to it as you, me, Rumple and Ches break off to lead the soldiers and the huge galloping dog away from the castle, into some open space where we actually have a choice. Glinda, Zelena and Alice veer off the other way, back towards the Red Queen. Their magic will be powerful together, and Alice can kick somebody's ass if she needs to, hopefully Anastasia's, multiple times.

And I'm willing to the bet that the knaves and faceless cards as Glinda called them - or the Red Queen - I guess called them will muster together at some point to help the Bandersnatch tear us to pieces, and I have no idea how we're going to get away from this thing. I'm just following Ches. 

As soon as we get to higher ground, maybe we can combine some magic and zap that big ole puppy dog into the next realm. No, I should be more careful with my words. We don't want to zap anyone or anything into any other realms, unless it's us being zapped to go save Henry and my parents. 

Out the castle doors and through the city we run, around corners and through allleyways, it feels like me running through the streets of New York with the kid, trying to outrun the hoards of zombies. Seriously though, this has got to be a fucking dream. I'll wake up soon, in my bed, back with the zombies and the kid, and you can be there too. That would be nice. 

But it's not a dream, and this is necessary to get everyone's lives back together. We have to fight this. Anyway, these knaves and cards are a little like zombies I guess, only faster and carrying weapons. And there's a big dog too. 

They're close. Getting closer, and my legs are really starting to burn, not to mention my lungs at this high altitude. But finally we make it to the wall and Rumple blasts a wave of energy at it, hoping to crumble it I think, but his magic isn't enough by himself.

You see him do it and grab my hand, shooting out your own wave of energy. The rock and brick explodes outward, making a gap wide enough for us to climb through, but the Bandersnatch hopefully will have a more difficult time, seeing as he's the size of two or three elephants put together. 

But just as we stumble through the bricks and rubble and begin our sprint to the foothills, the beginnings of the towering mountains where we traveled over on the horses or dog horses or whatever they were, I turn back and see the cards and knaves pouring through the gap we made, and then the Bandersnatch . . . no way. . . it just jumps right over the wall. Bounds over it like it's not even there. Twenty or thirty feet tall, and it just jumps. right. over it.

Anyway, we have to run faster now obviously. I don't have much left in the tank. I look over at you, gasping and clutching at your side. Shit. The Bandersnatch has already overtaken the knaves and is way too close to us. But something, I notice as I turn back to check out how close it is, is running on one of our dog-horses next to the Bandersnatch.

It's Ches, on the back of a dog-horse, who I guess doubled back to head the Bandersnatch off, moving faster than I've seen anyone move since we've been here, and swinging something shiny around just like a cowboy. Cow person. Ches launches it, and I can see that it's a hook with a rope tied to the end. In slow motion, we watch it catch on a tree limb up ahead of the Bandersnatch and the dog continues sprinting forward, unaware of its presence. 

I almost trip over my own feet as I watch, slowing down little by little. 

One huge forefoot makes it over, but the back three feet get all tangled up as soon as the Bandersnatch realizes the rope's presence and tries to clear it. As it tumbles to the ground, Ches leaps off the horse and lands agilely next to its head in a little puff of dust. Leaning forward quickly, before the huge elephant dog can realize what's happening, Ches blows some pink powder out of that claw-like hand into the Bandernsatch's face. I'm still watching and I've slowed to a stop. I can feel you slow up in front of me and hear you call out to everyone else to wait. 

The Bandersntatch sneezes once, its great eyes going all crossed and then its head falls to the ground. Ches' eyes go wide. 

"Charge!" comes the voice from deep within that cat-like chest and the soldiers storm back down the hillside towards the knaves and the fallen Bandersnatch. 

Okay, here we go, I think and we all turn around and run back down the rocks and grassy hillside, away from the snowy, rocky mountains, which is totally fine by me. 

"Rumple!" you yell and he's already by your side.

"We don't have to kill it do we?" I ask, pointing to the Bandersnatch about thirty feet from us, because it's helpless on the ground now and asleep, and it won't hurt us now.   
  
"It was about to kill us," you say disbelievingly, and Rumple stares at me with an equally aghast expression. 

"Come on," I say and you both roll your eyes.

"Fine," Rumple says and he grabs your hand and you grab mine. I'm don't know what I'm doing so I just supply my power. But the two of you send some red and purple magic towards the huge dog, wrapping it up in chains and a muzzle and elevating it into the air. 

Rumple moves his other hand while you hold the dog aloft, and the rocks from the hillside start moving, twisting and rolling and floating towards the dog until they arrange themselves in a sort of cave. A sturdy rock cave dungeon for the dog. I hope it stays.   
  
"It will be fine," you say, reading my expression.

Rumple puts the finishing touches on the dog and we turn our attention to the soldiers fighting the knaves. They seem to have it pretty well in hand, but just in case, we (I say we, but really it's you and Rumple) send a shockwave through their ranks, and the knaves and cards, every single one of them, crumples to the ground. Nice.   
  
Now, to find Zelena and Glinda and Alice. Back to the castle we go. 

We set foot inside the city walls and already I can see what's happening. There's an eerie glow bursting forth from the top floor of the castle. It's shining out in all directions, looking strangely like a blacklight lighthouse.

"We better get up there," I say and you meet my eyes. Teamwork, as usual. At your nod, we take off.

And to the stairs we sprint, into the Casino and over towards the great glass elevator. Up and up and up it takes us, and we just stand there, me clutching my father's sword, you messing with that sand dial, both of us staring at each other in the calm of the elevator. I'm surprised there isn't smooth jazz playing softly on the speakers. 

Waiting. Waiting. Fuck this elevator. And Willy Wonka too. 

Finally, the doors open at the top floor: the Red Queen's quarters. 

And there the light show is in full swing. Glinda and Zelena have to stay close by each other because they're not powerful alone, which puts them at a disadvantage and makes them an easier target. All three magical people are sending jolts of electrical magic and power towards each other, zapping things in the room and destroying furniture and blasting holes through the walls. 

One big hole in particular stands where all that glass formerly was. It's got to be a thousand feet to the ground from here. Makes my fingers tingle just thinking about it.

But with the three of us added in, there's no way the Red Queen can out-power us, even with Glinda's wand in her hand. We grasp hands again and shoot a wave of energy towards the Red Queen, but she blocks it, having seen us come in. Alice, sneaky little woman, is trying to creep up behind the Red Queen with her swords. 

What Alice needs is a good distraction. 

And that would be the perfect job for me. As long as it doesn't involve tiny red outfits and sex and being tied up, I'm good to go. I remember vaguely the blocking spell you taught me and without thinking, take off at a dead sprint for Zelena and Glinda. If I can just reach them, they could use the boost of energy. 

But it turns out that was a bad move.

The Red Queen singles me out like the little baby gazelle she thinks I am, and her bright light of energy hits me square in the side, sending me sprawling and sliding towards the huge hole they've blasted through the window. The pain is intense, I didn't manage to conjure the barrier spell by myself, and now I'm sliding on that perfectly smooth marble floor towards the hole, aided by the Red Queens' magic. 

"Emma!" I hear someone's voice from what sounds like far away, although it's only across the room. It sounds like you.

Sliding, still sliding. I'm wondering for a few seconds when I'm going to hit a wall or a body or something when suddenly I realize: there is no wall over here. It's been blown to bits.

She's sending me out the window!

Shit. I turn, grasping and grabbing at the floor, desperate for something to hold on to, but it's too fast. It all happens within two or three seconds, but in my reality it feels like slow motion. Shit! Fuck! But it's too late.

Suddenly I'm airborne, feeling like the first drop of a roller coaster but much worse, watching myself fall away from the window and seeing Glinda and Zelena, locked in a power struggle with the Red Queen, watch me fall, helpless to save me. I can vaguely hear your voice still yelling something, another flash of light and your voice stops and then I close my eyes, because fucking Pillar was right. Someone had to die, and what a way to go.

Like the idiot I am. You're really going to kill me for this. 

Fucking fairytales. They say your life is supposed to flash through your eyes before you die, but it doesn't really happen that way. It is just one shining image. It's you and me and Henry all together in the sunshine, doing different things. It's more like a flash of our future, like a sped up film through my mind, how happy we could have all been together. 

How perfect everything would have been, if not for this stupid Wonderland and the stupid Enchanted Forest, and those stupid zombies, and all the stupid curses. 

And then my mind goes to the kid. Damn it, Henry.

I close my eyes and think of him, put every ounce of my energy into thinking of him and you and all of the love that I can possibly have for other human beings, even after having been abandoned over and over and over in my life. I think that makes me love even harder. Maybe I have abandonment issues, but damn it do I love hard.

 I love you, and I love Henry. And I don't want to die. 

Regina watches it happen, watches Emma take off through the middle of the firefight without warning. Just starts sprinting through no man's land, right past Zelena and Glinda and into the fray. What the hell is she doing? Regina's head spins, eyes wide, frozen to her spot by the elevator.

But whatever this idiot she's fallen in love with is trying to accomplish, it doesn't work. The Red Queen, from her position behind a toppled desk, catches sight of Emma and smiles. Actually smiles. 

Regina has had just about enough of that woman eyeing Emma like a piece of meat, like she'd want nothing more than to rip Emma's clothes apart and ravish her until she's spent, exhausted and puddle-like. It's been that way since before Regina even realized that they'd been tricked. The first Glinda was the Red Queen in disguise and her roving eyes were only a touch more inconspicuous. 

And now this, the Red Queen grins wolfishly and takes her attention off her other opponents for a split second. The Red Queen flicks a hand towards her just as Emma begins to summon what looks like the beginnings of a blocking spell.

That's all it takes and Emma hits the floor and begins her skid. It's happening so fast. The gears in Regina's brain finally start turning again and she reacts, sending a burst of energy towards the Red Queen.

Her fireball hits the Red Queen square in the side. It's enough to distract her. Regina smiles for a split second as her flame scorches the bitch, roasting through her clothes. Turning her attention quickly towards Emma who is sliding, sliding, sliding, all the way across the floor and towards the window, Regina reaches deep down for more power and finds it, ready to reach out and cushion Emma from smacking into the glass. 

But just as she casts the spell, the Red Queen turns, screeching and waving her arms, trying in vain to put the fire out, and in her rage, sends some flames of her own back towards Regina. 

Her spell is cut off as she ducks to avoid the flames and Emma continues across the floor. 

Just as Regina looks up, Emma is gone. 

"Emma!" she shouts, unable to believe that the woman had been there one second before is now . . . not. The window that had been there earlier in the day is gone. It's a blank gaping hole blasted apart by the spells flying around the room. 

No. 

She shakes her head, willing it not to be real. The memory plays back in her head. 

Emma sliding, Emma sliding, Emma sliding. First Emma was running doing god knows what, being a distraction. Stupid, stupid idiotic woman, mother of her son. Damn her. 

And she went out the busted window. Gone. Regina rushes without thinking over to the wide open hole in the wall to help, maybe to stop Emma's fall. But it's there again. The Red Queen's magic, slapping her across the face, punching her in the ribs, tossing her like a rag doll backwards into the far wall. 

She doesn't even notice the tears tracking down her face as the rage builds, her breaths heave through her chest, and she doesn't feel the pain of her entire body hitting the wall. All she feels the is the stark, acute feeling of loss.

Not again.

Emma.

A thousand thoughts fly through her mind. This is too soon. They had only begun to live and love and discover things about each other. And Emma wasn't true to her word. This is all Emma's fault. She promised she would be fine, she promised that if they started this relationship that everything would be fine.

How callous and cold the Red Queen had been; this is all her fault. Snatching Emma from her grasp, taking the love she had just found and squeezing it to dust in her hands. Just like Daniel. Just like her mother. How could this be happening again? How? Everyone she ever loved. Everyone except Henry. 

What would she tell Henry? 

As the spells swirl again around the room, more powerful now from the less outnumbered Red Queen, Regina's rage continues to build and boil at the thought of raising Henry alone again. Because when Emma first arrived in Storybrooke, the prospect of having her there had been terrible, bearable later, and now, Regina isn't so sure what life will be like without the infuriating blonde woman. 

Magic crackles and zaps in her hands, eyes glazed over with fury. 

She snaps. 

And the Red Queen doesn't know what hits her. It's a blast of lilac, an explosion to rival all explosions. One of love and of loss and of rage. It knocks the Red Queen back, unconscious on the floor, the wand tumbles forward and rolls across the floor, her hands and legs sprawled around her. Glinda and Zelena step forward from behind the wardrobe, unharmed and wide-eyed. 

Regina collapses on the floor from the exertion.

Pillar was right. Someone was fated to die. But why did it have to be Emma? Why not her? Why not Zelena? Why not someone who actually deserved it?  

Regina knew it. She just knew it was a bad idea, giving her heart and soul to that idiot, trusting her, taking the leap of faith, allowing herself to fall in love again. Fate had arrived again to rear its ugly head, to kick the ladder out from under her, just as she had achieved her balance. 

 


	30. Chapter 30

_Damn it, Henry._ _  
_

_I close my eyes, and think of him, put every ounce of my energy into thinking of him and you and all of the love that I can possibly have for other human beings, even after having been abandoned over and over and over in my life. I think that makes me love even harder. Maybe I have abandonment issues, but damn it do I love hard._

_I love you, and I love Henry. And I don't want to die._

* * *

 

So I don't. 

Bizarrely, I think of **Rule #17 Don't be a Hero** as I fall. But to hell with that. To hell with the rules.   
  
A burst of white light blinds me momentarily and I'm wondering for a split second if I've died. I inhale. Exhale. One more time for good measure. No, I'm still breathing and feeling still that kick of magic in my side. Maybe one of the magic users from upstairs has helped me, Glinda or you or somebody. But as I turn my head and open my eyes to look up, I see that no, there's no magic coming from the window hundreds and hundreds of feet above me. I turn in midair and look at the ground. My breath catches in my throat. It's inches away. I can see every blade of grass and speck of dirt beneath me. I'm floating in a cloud of puffy white magic. And no one else is around.   
  
I saved myself?   
  
That's hard to believe and then suddenly it's gone. I collapse the last couple of inches to the ground with a thud. It still hurts, but not as badly as that free fall from a thousand feet up would have. Belief is key, I guess. Isn't that one of Henry's rules? 

The fight is still taking place around me and no one has seemed to notice that I just fucking saved myself from dying a sudden death even without combined magic. Wow. I roll over and squint up at the window: it's empty. Whatever fight that was happening a few seconds ago, it looks like it's over now.

That's good, but where is everyone? I guess I'll have to go back up the elevator to see. This is like a fucking cartoon. Fall down from a great height, but all the action is still happening up there, so up I go again. I pull my battered body up off the ground and head back into the castle, managing to avoid a few knaves before having to use the sword for anything, which is good, because I haven't gotten to practice with it much at all. It's mostly been magic people fighting and a little bit of Alice kicking ass. But then a couple of them spot me trying to dart back up to the front doors and head my way. Shit. 

I sling the sword up through the air into a fighting position and balance myself, facing the two of them. This could get ugly. But it's fine, really. I took out many a zombie in the Land without Magic and now shouldn't be any different, right? Well, the difference is, those were innocent people turned into monsters and these are . . . well, they might be in the same situation, under contract somehow with the Red Queen and needing more than anything to obey her commands. I hesitate. I don't want to kill these people. 

But they raise their spears, ready to take me out, recognizing me from our earlier escape from the cells probably. Bouncing on the balls of my feet, my eyes dart back and forth between them, ready to dodge their spears at any moment. One of them, a burly, dark-headed soldier with equally dark eyes glances quickly towards the second one. Another moment of hesitation and I lower the sword a fraction. 

"You guys don't want to hurt me," I say calmly. The other soldier clenches her jaw, muscles tensing throughout her squarish uniform. 

"We have strict orders to have you killed, intruder," she says gruffly. The other one nods in agreement. 

"I believe you," I say gently, knowing what they're thinking about. "But that doesn't mean you want to do it." 

Another hesitation. They'd make terrible poker players. "In fact, I don't think you will hurt me. And I think that's because you understand that your queen is losing this fight." 

A glance back and forth between the soldiers tells me everything I need to know. "I need to go upstairs. You two should go home, find your families, celebrate the downfall of the queen." 

"Thank you," the burly one whispers and takes off running for the city. The female soldier smiles briefly at me and follows, probably infinitely relieved that the tide is turning. But I can't possibly know for certain what's happened up there. In fact, I just lied my ass off to avoid fighting with them. It's possible we're absolutely losing this fight upstairs, but a little bit of hope goes a long way, doesn't it? I sprint off in the direction of the elevator. 

The ride up seems to take forever and I brace myself for another fight as the doors open. I don't really know what to expect, but as the doors open into the penthouse, I sure as hell don't expect to see what I see.

Rumple with an arm around you, your form moving shakily, kind of looking like you're sobbing. He looks pretty uncomfortable. And Glinda (wand safely back in hand), Zelena and Alice are tying up a bleeding and bruised Red Queen, shackling her with those magic-suppressing cuffs and leaving her to lie unconscious on the floor. Damn, the fight must have ended pretty damn quickly after I catapulted out the window. I'm just glad to see that you're okay.

The first one to see me is Alice. Her eyes widen and she looks unamused at first.  
  
"You jumped out the window and missed the entire fight," she says darkly, without smiling, but I can see the slightest lift of her lips. She's glad I'm alive. Maybe. 

You jerk your head up, tears streaming down your face. Our eyes meet and I realize. You couldn't save me. You thought I was dead. And you use Rumple as a support to clamber to your feet and rush over to me, throwing your arms around my neck briefly and then letting go almost as quickly. I was enjoying the hug and now I'm staring at you in alarm.

You push me back with both hands, roughly. I stumble backwards and you look like you're about to punch me. 

What the hell?  
  
"Why would you do that? You _idiot_!"

I open my mouth to speak, but all I can do is laugh. And shake my head. "I'm sorry?"   
  
"You're not sorry, you fool," you wipe your eyes and glare at me. "You could have died. You  _should_  have died. I thought you died! All because you tried to be the hero. Don't you have a rule for that, you idiotic, stupid woman?" you push me again and I let you. I deserve it. "How are you still alive?"  
  
That's a lot of questions to answer, but all I can do is smile and reach out for you. You're damn right about the rule. But to be honest with you, I'm through with the stupid rules. 

You let me hug you once more and I whisper in your ear. "I'm the _Savior_ , Regina. I couldn't just die and not save our son, could I?"   
  
You pull back but don't push me this time. Your tears are finished and you're still mad at me. Now this is the Regina I fell in love with. Prickly, defensive, angry, and bursting with love.  
  
"I'll tell you about it later, okay?"   
  
You nod and I look around. "So, she's captured. Great. Now what?"   
  
"Now the people will take care of her," Alice says smugly, like she knows exactly what's going to happen. And from that murderous expression, I don't think it's going to be good.  
  
"Do you think they'll kill her?" I ask, because she shouldn't just be killed. That's not really fair. Well, her sending people off to the mines and doing other horrible things to them wasn't exactly fair either, but still. Maybe she should be killed. I guess I don't really have a say in this because it's not my world.  
  
"No, she'll be put on trial for her crimes. We will return Pillar's heart to him and Alice will be in charge while we all travel back to the Enchanted Forest with you three." 

After a brief embrace between Glinda and Alice, they break apart and Glinda takes Zelena's hand as they walk forward towards you me and Rumple. "Ready?" Zelena says, setting her jaw.

  
"Right now?" I ask, a little taken aback because jiminy crickets we just finished one battle and now it's time to jump into another one. Well, not really a battle. Now just a race against time. And I will never use jiminy crickets as an expression again. What the fuck is wrong with me?

Zelena points at the sand dial on your neck. Jesus, she's right. It's almost completely run out of sand. "We have until sundown today."

  
"Well then, let's go," I say quickly because she's right and we all scrunch in together. I'm still mad at her. Stupid Zelena. If she hadn't forced us into this mess in the first place and simply asked nicely, we wouldn't have to be rushing against time to save my family's lives. But there's nothing I can do about it now except cooperate and get there as fast as possible. 

 Zelena takes the shoes from her bag and places them in the center of the circle. We all join hands like a regular gaggle of witches about to perform a summoning spell or something. She clicks them together. And there we go, surrounded by pressure and my head feels like it's going to explode and the world is spinning and I just know I'm going to be sick. I hate this form of travel. I might just take being felt up by the TSA in an absurdly over-populated airport over this. 

But then suddenly the pressure releases and there we are, in the lobby of your castle, back in another world. I breathe in deeply.   
  
You and Rumple flex your hands and test your powers, feeling them return completely to you back in this world. It makes me wonder where my powers would be the most powerful. Here probably because this is where I was born. But I'd have to practice. I think of the way I sent that burst of energy when I first got here and Zelena threatened Henry. But the sun distracts me from my thoughts, streaming in from the western windows.   
  
"It's almost sunset," you say to the group and I don't mind leading the way, starting my sprint up the stairs, but soon I feel myself engulfed in your magic, electric and earthy. Suddenly we're all in the upstairs hallway together, having been magicked there by you. 

Not wasting any time. That's good. 

Everyone else is downstairs. I'm pretty sure Granny saw us appear and then disappear again to the upstairs. They'll be up shortly, I'm sure. I glance over at you and you come to meet me, grasping my hand in yours as we push through the door to see our son again after what feels like weeks. It's only been one or two days, I'm not exactly certain, but still. His little face is a welcome sight. I glance over to your chest, not looking at your cleavage at all, I swear, at the sand dial and can see the final specks of sand falling through the top compartment into the bottom. I don't want to find out what will happen to them if the curse isn't broken in time. 

Glinda and Zelena join hands and stand over Henry first. Zelena has conjured up her spell book and hurriedly rifled through to the right page. Her long green finger trails over the words, an otherworldly glow follows in its wake. 

She begins in a guttural voice, reciting the incantation in a strange language at first and then Glinda joins in. A gentle shiver of power trembles through the air, rippling and rippling, but it's not enough. I knew it wouldn't be. Both of them aren't powerful enough here. But with Glinda's wand, they will be. She pulls it out and waves it.

The effect is instantaneous. Blankets of multicolored smoke, white and silver and green cascades and concentrates around Glinda and Zelena. It manifests in a blanket of swirling green and white silvery magic that floats over our son, becoming more and more solid and heavy, and suddenly it descends.

That moment, the moment of truth I guess you could say, is one of the longest of my life. But then it breaks. 

A gasp, and Henry takes a deep breath and opens in eyes.   
  
We can breathe again too. We rush to his side, you hold your hand on his chest, checking for his heartbeat and health and he looks into my eyes, taking in my seriously filthy and disheveled appearance.   
  
"You did it," he says breathily, sitting up with some difficulty and wincing as if he's been asleep for quite some time. Looking up at you, he smiles and pulls himself into your arms for a hug. "You both did." 

Zelena and Glinda move on to my parents and perform the same spell. Henry sits up in bed and watches with rapt interest at Glinda and Zelena - working together.   
  
And before long, they're awake too. And just in time. The hourglass sizzles on your chest and you gasp in surprise. It lifts up and over your head all by itself, glowing green and white and shaking violently. Finally it explodes and vaporizes over our heads in a flash of light, disappearing from existence completely. 

Wow. I guess maybe that's what would've happened to my family if we hadn't gotten back in time.  
  
Just then, my parents sit up, wipe the sleep from their eyes and their gazes fall on me and Henry and you.   
  
"Emma," Mary Margearet gasps, tears immediately springing to her eyes. I move, I wouldn't say reluctantly, but almost, to her side of the bed and embrace her, trying hard to ignore the ever growing bump in her stomach. I hug David too, although I guess he's Charming here, and she's Snow, but anyway. He embraces me and holds the back of my head like he does. My dad.   
  
"You came for us," Mary Margaret says and then turns to you, wonderment in her eyes.   
  
"You found her. And Henry. Regina, who how did you do it?"   
  
You, looking as exhausted as I feel, sit down heavily on Henry's bed and brush some stray hair from his face just as the inhabitants of the castle burst through the doors. Ruby and Granny and Belle and everyone else. 

"It's quite a long story," you say tiredly.

Damn right it is. 

 


	31. Zelena's Decision

(A/N - be warned for the mature sexual content midway through. If you don't like, you can skip past the horizontal lines.)

Jubilation. It's the only word to describe the mood around the castle after everyone is reunited and reacquainted and introduced. Mary Margaret or . . . Snow, I guess here in this world, (I've got to work on that) and David manage to slowly climb out of bed and stretch their limbs, stiff from months of being stuck in the dream world. They need assistance moving around, having not used their muscles in so long, so that's what you and I help with: getting them to the nearest bathroom, which is just a room with a wooden type of portapotty inside.

I'll have to ask you whether or not indoor plumbing is something we magic up here. Either that, or I'm not going to like this place very much. Going in the woods is one thing, but this archaic stuff every single day is not my cup of tea.

My parents assure us that they can manage in the bathroom and then make their way downstairs. We leave them to it and head to the Great Hall dining room place. I don't know what it's called, I just got here and this place reminds me a little of Hogwarts. There's already been announcements for a feast and a party and for everyone in the realm (who are our allies, mind you) to join us in celebration. Their King and Queen are back in business and now I guess it's time to celebrate.

Glinda and Zelena follow us, quiet and cold towards each other, having now rescued Henry and my parents and defeated the Red Queen. Most everyone avoids Zelena like the plague, sure that she's going to turn them into a monkey. And speaking of chimps, her creepy little winged Chistery companion appeared as soon as she did and has been following her around, stealing grapes and apples from the kitchen, much to your dislike.

I figure Glinda probably wants to get back to Wonderland. I haven't asked yet whether Zelena will be accompanying her once she figures out the zombie problem. And that's why Glinda is mad of course, because Zelena cursed a whole world and killed possibly hundreds of thousands of people just to put me and Henry (and Neal too) in danger so that Regina and Rumple would eventually have to do what she wanted.

Surely there was another way to coerce your family members . . . I dunno? Maybe, get on their good side? But I guess that wasn't an option for anyone related to Cora. She didn't operate by getting on people's good side, so why would her daughters or the Dark One she fell in love with so long ago?

I watch, grimacing, as Zelena tries over and over to apologize and to explain herself again to Glinda, but the White Queen is not having it. Serves her right, really. But shit, I shake my head, thinking of my past and of your past, and how we're all affected by others' choices (especially our family) and those consequences but more affected by our own choices and how we respond to our situations. It's hurting my head, so I stop.

As soon as Zelena figures out the zombies, maybe she and Glinda can resolve their spat. That would be redemption enough, I think, healing the Land without Magic so that it can be habitable again. I'm thinking the majority of people have been turned into zombies and are undead. Maybe they can be brought back.

It's my home. I want to go back, but I don't want to run from the zombies all my life. This cardio regime is just not sustainable.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask, leaning close to me as we wash our hands at the kitchen pump. I guess I was off in la-la land. I shrug.

"Do you like it here?" I ask, turning my eyes to you and searching your face, because where you want to be and where the kid want to be matter to me.

"Honestly," you say, wiping your hands on a clean dishcloth and tossing it to me. "In thinking I had cursed all these people to a horrible unhappy existence in Storybrooke, I actually ended up giving them everything they could ever need. It's my town, I created it and nurtured it and shaped it into what it is. Granted, I used memory charms on the townspeople to do it and tried to take away their happy endings, but at least they weren't being killed by ogres or going without penicillin."

"So you want to go back?" My eyes brighten at that. Even if we have to make another barrier in Storybrooke to keep out the zombies, I want to go back more than anything.

You nod and glance around. "I hate it here. This place . . . Like many places in the Enchanted Forest, hold many painful and horrible memories for me. Some good, but most are of my descent into darkness and hatred and desperation. You and I could start over, with Henry, back in Storybrooke."

My heart swells. I toss the dish towel aside and pull you towards me, not caring who in the kitchen sees. And there are quite a few people in here, but you don't resist, so I lean in to press our lips together. Gentle, loving, promising. But when I hear a piece of cutlery clatter to the floor, we pull apart and look around.

Every eye in the kitchen is trained on us and utter silence fills the space. Oops. Well, that's one way to reveal your relationship to the masses, I guess. At least Mary Margaret and David aren't in here. You blush furiously, but clear your throat at once.

"There's nothing to see here. I believe we have a feast to prepare for." You're using your mayor-I'm-in-charge voice and it's pretty damn sexy. People all over the kitchen scramble around, searching for something to do, something to help with as the supper comes together.

After the feast, Mary Margaret and David help me out with the cleanup in the dining room. You've already taken a reluctantly exhausted Henry upstairs because it's late and it's been an exciting day and even though he protested for about an hour straight that he'd been sleeping for days so shouldn't he be able to stay up late just this once, you caught his drooping eyes and nodding head far more times than he could argue against.

So I grab a few plates and haul them off to the kitchens, following behind my parents. With Granny relaxing after doing most of the cooking, Ruby and Belle are the only ones still awake and sober enough to help us out, because naturally during a feast there must be imbibing, it takes us a while to get everything nice and clean again. My head, for one, feels perfectly clear because I wanted tonight to go a certain way later on. You know, with you up in your bedroom on top of me or under me or wherever you want to be, really, as I long as I get to feel you.

I must be blushing as I sit down at one of the long tables in a heap and Mary Margaret, Snow . . .damn it, must have seen it.

"You okay?" she asks, taking the seat nearest me and reaching over to feel my forehead. Very motherly. And oh boy, I think, because what better time to talk about how I feel about them than right now. I move away from her hand, trying hard to ignore the frown that accompanies my denial of her affection and concern, but I can't.

Surprisingly, she doesn't ask me about it. Instead, she blindsides me with something else, just as David pulls up the seat across from us at the table.

"So," she says conversationally, like she's about to ask about how the weather's been while they were asleep. "What's going on between you and Regina?"

I take a deep breath. Well, that was direct. I think back to how the feast went, me sitting with Henry on one side and you close by on the other, maybe too close for two women who are just friends and who just happen to share a son and nothing else. Nothing except a history of childhood abuse and abandonment and betrayal and pain and loss and heartbreak. A history of magic and redemption and discovering motherhood and love and trust. We might have whispered to each other too many times or brushed hands a bit often or shared long, meaningful looks that my parents happened to see sitting directly across from us.

They tried during the feast to monopolize me, to keep me engaged in conversation, but it fell flat because they could so obviously see the only two I had eyes and ears for. Oops. So I play dumb, prolonging the inevitable because this wasn't what I was prepared to talk to them about.

"What do you mean what's going on?"

"I mean the way you're behaving around each other, almost like you're . . ." she trails off and David picks up her sentence and nervous expression.

"Together."

I guess this directness runs in our family. Henry questioned our relationship the same way, and I probably would have done the same. The only thing is, I'm not sure if they'll be as accepting as Henry was. Another deep breath. I can do this.

"That's because we are."

"You are," Snow says, more of a statement than a question.

"Yes."

"Since when?" David says, face open, no condemnation in his tone. "How?"

How? Ha. I don't think he wants to know the details of how. Of that first night together in my apartment in the city. Of our coming together amidst the zombies and the death and the destruction and the haven I stitched together for our son, of the gratitude you showed me for keeping him safe like you knew I would, of my appreciation for taking him and raising him when I couldn't and for selflessly giving me those memories. Of finding that we'd shared this growing bond for far longer than the curse or the trigger or Neverland or the wraith. That maybe we'd felt connected forever, if such a thing exists, such a thing like fate or destined choices. We've both been fighting fate our whole lives, but maybe it brought us together. But that's not a story for their ears. I'll just give them the simple and condensed version, the truth.

"Well, since I first met her really, and when she helped bring us back from the Enchanted Forest, and the mine with the trigger and then Neverland. Then she gave me and Henry our happy ending. And then she came to find us, to make sure we were okay after the zombies. So technically since a few days ago. And also technically forever."

They don't say anything. Maybe they're shocked. So I go on.

"Look, I was surprised too. And I think Regina especially was. But it's happening and now we're . . . we're in love," I find myself shrugging, emotion filling my eyes. "Henry accepts it, and whether or not you two do, I'm not leaving her. I gotta go."

I know it's immature, and I know I should stay and talk to them about it, to see what they think. I should stay and tell them why I'm really upset and giving them the cold shoulder.

"Emma, wait," Snow says, and damn it I don't have much willpower, do I? I stop a few feet away from them, fully intent on leaving the room and heading straight up into your arms. But I can't do it. My boots scrape against the stones as I turn and face them again.

"Give us a chance," David says. "We wanted to have a talk, not to make you angry."

A sigh and a drop of my shoulders. I reluctantly go sit back down at the table. I'm defensive and afraid. What can I say?

"Sorry," I say and wait for them to respond to my story.

"I don't know about David," Snow says, glancing over at him as if they'd already talked this over and agreed on what they'd say, and then she looks back at me. "But I'm happy for you. And for Regina. I told her she'd find love again, and she deserves to be loved by someone good. Someone good for her."

"I agree," David says, expression so far open and sincere. "Both of Henry's mothers. And now you're together. I think it's great."

I turn to each of them, searching their faces for the punch line, for the 'just kidding, you're disgusting' or the 'I can't believe my baby girl is a big gaymo', but it's not there. They're genuinely happy for us. Huh.

"Now, can you tell us why you're upset with us?" Snow says, expectant expression on her face, kind of mirroring the expectant bump on her belly. I stare at it pointedly.

"When were you going to tell me about the newest edition to your family?"

David shakes his head. "Our family. Emma, you'll always be our baby. But we missed your childhood, we missed every detail that helped shape who you are, your first steps, your first words, going to school, everything. We get to be with you now, to celebrate how wonderful you are, how well you turned out despite everything."

"Is it so selfish to want another child?" Snow asks quietly, almost guiltily.

I want to scream at them. But I'm an adult, and I hold it in. "No, it's not. But it doesn't change the fact that you're the reason I grew up alone. Your decision is the reason I was in the system and saw horrible things a child shouldn't have to see. You're the reason I bounced from home to home and back to the orphanage. I was an unlovable problem child with abandonment issues. I still am. All because you stuck me in a tree to 'give me my best chance'."

Both of them tear up at my quiet tirade, hopefully feeling guilty about what they did to me.

"I had to give up Henry, too, don't get me wrong," I say, voice never wavering. "But I sent him someplace sure, someplace I knew he'd be loved and taken care of and probably wouldn't have to even meet me, because I was in such a bad place that I couldn't even care for my own child.

"What you did was different. I'm still angry with you about it. I don't know when I won't be. And seeing you with a new child growing in there, it feels like betrayal. Like that kid gets everything that I didn't. Maybe it's childish, yeah, immature, whatever. But I'm jealous and bitter about it."

It's similar to what I told them in Neverland, to what they told me in Neverland about wanting to start over. About wanting a child, even if starting their family meant being without me in Neverland. But now it's real. And I know how Zelena feels. There's too much abandonment in our story, don't you think?

"Emma, I'm so sorry," Snow says, leaning towards me, wanting to comfort, reaching out. But that's not what I want. I don't want it from David either. I just want time.

The chair scrapes as I push it back and stand again. And this time I ignore their pleas for me to come back as I head up the stairs towards our rooms. You're what I need. You and Henry. Our family.

* * *

You're reading something to him when I crack the door open slowly, so it doesn't squeak. Your head pops up to watch me, reciting the words from heart without having to read them. It's a story I don't recognize, from a book I don't know. Maybe it's something that was read to you when you were a little girl. Maybe it means a lot to you. Maybe someday I can sit and listen to the whole thing.

You turn one more page, pause your reading and we look down together at the kid. He's fast asleep. I go to the other side of his bed, pull the covers up over his chest, lean down and kiss his forehead. Soon after, you mirror my actions, and a vivid flashback of you breaking his memory curse swoops into my mind. It's beautiful, the love you have for him. And his love for you as well.

Silently, you extinguish the lamps in his room and I follow you out as you quietly shut his door and smile at me.

"How was clean up duty?" You ask, turning and leading me down the hallway to the end and double doors.

"Fine," I say darkly, shutting the doors behind us and watching as your wave a hand, allowing light to fly into each lamp, illuminating the room before us. Your bedroom. I don't want to talk about this. I want to get to know your bedroom. Intimately.

"Doesn't sound fine," you observe, sitting daintily on the chaise near center of the room. The huge bed rests on the other side, beautiful reds and purple blankets and pillows cover it. It looks incredibly comfortable. You pat the spot next to you and I sit, sighing.

"They asked if you and I were together."

Your eyes widen. "Already? I thought surely it would take Charming at least a week to figure it out," you smile at your own humor, but drop it soon when I don't smile with you. "So tell me what happened then. They were upset, unaccepting? Do I need to curse them back to sleep?"

This time I do smile. Because that part of the conversation with my parents wasn't bad. I shake my head. "No, you don't need to do that. They were fine with it, actually. I told them I loved you, that you loved me and that I didn't care what they thought."

"Impressive," you say with a half-smirk, your eyes glinting with attraction. Or something like it. "So why the long face?"

"I confronted them about the baby, about them wanting to start over on their family. I was kind of immature about it and told them I was jealous."

You shrug, reaching out to cup my cheek in your hand. "I don't think it's an immature response to be angry with what they did to you. It's important to work through your feelings about it, to externalize exactly what you're thinking. They need to make up for the fact that they were terrible parents to you, sending you into an unknown world, certain you'd be fine and would come blindly later to save them."

"I knew you'd agree with me," I say, still glum. "But that doesn't mean I agree with myself. I need to get over it, to accept it and move on. I need to come to grips with the fact that I can't stop them from living their own lives, just like they can't stop me. And I feel bad now that they accepted us and I still can't forgive them. But I want to. "

"You're a good daughter, aren't you?" You say with a smile, leaning in to kiss me gently. Our lips slide together perfectly. And you taste incredible, faintly like wine and something that just tastes like you. Electric and earthy and like home. "I'd have set them on fire some time ago if I was you."

I laugh at that and kiss you back one more time. "I know. You've tried many times, remember?"

"Shut up, Miss Swan and kiss me. I've been waiting for this for some time now, bringing you up to my room and having my way with you."

I oblige, kissing you deeply and moving my body to cover yours. Ah, yes.

"Are you tired?" you ask, your voice husky in my ear. I shake my head.

You sit up on the chaise, stand and pull me with you to a side room. A bathroom it turns out. White and black tiled, minimal furnishings. Completely different from the bathroom in my parent's room. A huge, dark tub sunken into the floor is the highlight of the room with various jars and sponges and pitchers next to a set of faucets. It could be a small pool, really. Immaculate and very much like your decor back in Storybrooke.

"I'd like to bathe, if that's all right with you." All I can do is nod my head because this is something I've fantasized about since I met you. Seeing you naked and wet and getting clean after being so dirty. Incredible, and the thought of me getting naked and wet with you. It's already got my knees weak. A wave of your hand and a puff of purple smoke after, the tub is full of steaming water and bubbles. Their scent is just like you, clean like laundry and fresh air and the fall. I can't think of anything that smells better.

"Shall we?" you raise an arched eyebrow, those dark eyes taking in my body, up and down they roam, teasing me and challenging me to get on with it, to give in and go for it.

And what I want is . . . what I want so badly is to just bend you over this tub and fuck you, just fuck you senseless, but not yet. I have to wait. I have to give you what you want first. Giving you everything you want is going to turn me on so much more than just taking for myself. One deep breath and I step towards you, reaching out for your clothes, and I work to release you from it, one piece at a time until it's all pooled on the floor, revealing your incredible body to me.

Beautiful. Arousal sweeps through me, flushing my skin, dilating my pupils, increasing my heart rate, sending moisture and blood to my groin. God I'm so wet for you. But you want to bathe. Okay, I can handle that. I step into the water first, testing its temperature, hissing at the heat. It's almost too hot. Almost - but it will quickly cool. It's perfect. I hold my hand out to you and you take it, letting me lead you into the water with me and we sink down to our knees into it together.

"Wash me, would you?" your voice nothing more than a murmur, but in the silence and echoing of the tiled bathroom, it's loud enough for me to hear. My hands stream along your back, feeling the muscles and bones, the soft skin now wet and slick with the water and bubbles and I want more of you. I want to feel all of you against me. Leaning forward, I press my body to yours, my front to your back and listen to your gasp of pleasure at our contact. My hands creep around your waist, trailing up first to your breasts, feeling their weight and heft, cupping them fully and ending the caress at the tips of them, at your nipples, which I don't plan on leaving alone for long. Oh no, I don't plan on leaving any of you alone for long.

My lips lower to your shoulder and my hips press against your ass, squeezing you tight to me, wanting to meld us together, to become one. I press kisses to your neck, tongue darting out to lick and feel and taste and tease. To your ear my mouth goes, teasing, biting, breathing into it and you squirm in front of me and press back against me as my hands trail down, feeling over the curve of your stomach and hip bones, down lower to between your legs, where your hair has grown out in our travels, short and coarse. My fingers trail through it, dip farther down and cup you. Another wave of your trembling hand and the hair is gone, leaving behind smooth skin.

"You didn't have to do that," I say quietly, feeling the softness. "I don't mind hair."

"I wanted to, for what I have planned later," you say, voice dipping low and groaning slightly at what my hand is doing to you.

And your head falls back against my shoulder, leaving your mouth vulnerable and open to me and oh do I take advantage.

I kiss you, gently at first, feeling and relishing you with my lips, our mouths coming together like they have so many times before and so few times before, when really they could have come together like this for years if only we had gotten over ourselves. But now is not the time to be remorseful. No, now is the time to be reverent, to enjoy and worship your body as it deserves to be. My hands leave the sensitive area between your thighs and travel farther down over your strong quad muscles and back to your hamstrings, and I have to lean over to reach more than that, my lips tasting your back as I go. Your feet are last and I want to wash them and take my time doing it, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable on your knees in the smooth stoned tub. Hm, I smirk to myself as my hands travel back up, I would like to have you on your knees though. Oh yes, I wouldn't mind that at all.

"Sit up on the edge, would you?"

You turn to me with a raised brow, complying, getting to your feet to turn completely and sit on the edge of the tub. With your legs slightly spread, I can just see between them and it takes a monumental effort not to dive in and taste you, to just eat you out and make you come right here and now. But no, this is going to be good. You deserve this. I reach forward, taking one smooth and toned calf in my hands, using the soapy water to massage slowly up and down your legs. Your eyes drift close at the feeling, but what I'm waiting for is that moan. And when my hands work their way down to your feet, rubbing gently over your ankle bone to press into your arch, I'm rewarded with it.

Head thrown back, I could be filling you with my tongue, as erotic the noises you're making sound. I press in with my thumbs, working upwards to the ball of your foot, feeling every tendon and muscle and easing your tension. Your toes, I work one by one, gently because they're probably sensitive with little muscle. One reverent kiss to the tender skin on that foot and I reach for the next one. Giving it the same treatment, I'm imagining how good this must feel to your tired body, having traveled realms and saved countless people on these two feet.

Eventually, you pull your foot slowly from my hands and I meet your eyes, pupils blown and hooded and looking like you wouldn't mind being thoroughly fucked right about now.

"Emma," you whisper, bringing me out of my dirty thoughts.

"Hmm?" I manage because I'm trembling with the thought of making love to you for the rest of the night.

"Can you do something for me?"

"Anything, Regina."

"Can you wash something else for me? It's a bit out of the ordinary, I'm afraid."

"Is it?" You nod and I can see your smirk on your partially turned face. I have a feeling what you're going to ask for.

"Yes."

"You know I'd do anything for you. Even something out of the ordinary."

"Would you?" I nod and smile, resting my hands on your thighs and stretching up to kiss your lips lovingly. "You'd wash parts of me considered filthy by most of society?"

My eyes widen. And more blood rushes to my groin. Oh yes.

In answer, I lean forward and kiss your shoulder, trailing my hands around to your back and down to your ass. Perfect, round muscular cheeks. You could break a man's skull with these, I'd imagine. And they're all mine. "Hmmm," I say into your neck. "Turn around and lean forward on the stones?"

You nod and I can feel your excitement, see it in your tensed back muscles as you turn. You want this as much as I do. Perhaps even more. You lean forward, resting your elbows on the stones and in doing so your cheeks spread apart just enough to where I can see your hole and just below it, your perfectly pink pussy and clit, places I'd like to spend so much more time, and I certainly plan on it.

But right now, I'd like to do what you've asked me. One look to my right and I see a sponge and a jar of what looks like liquid soap. After it's wet and lathered, I stand behind you and begin on your back, gently soaping your shoulders and to the top of your spine, down down down, but not all the way. No, I trail back up and slowly wash along the top of one arm, back across your upper shoulders and down the other arm.

And while you moan at the feeling of being washed so reverently, I can sense your frustration. You and I both know where you want it.

"Emma," you say through gritted teeth, close to moan that I enjoy so much. I smirk, knowing that you know I'm smirking but I don't care. Fine, I think as I trail the sponge downward to your ass and slowly over one cheek at time, rubbing circular patterns over them and making sure they are as clean and shining as they've ever been. After some time, you arch your back, presenting your ass to me like a feline in heat while your hand shoots back to grasp my forearm.

"Emma."

Your voice is certainly more stern now and you're obviously done with me playing around.

"Fine, fine," I mumble, and I work up enough soap to use on your ass with just my hands. Getting to my knees behind you, coming face to well . . . ass with you, and gently, I spread your cheeks and am greeted with the sight of your smaller, tighter opening, the one I have yet to feel the inside of, the one you seemingly want me so badly inside. I run my fingers gently over it, trying not to get soap any further down because I know it might be uncomfortable. My fingers trail over the tight folds slowly, circling, circling but never pressing inside. I press harder, making sure you're clean as you've asked and reach over for a small pitcher and fill it with clean, warm water.

It flows over your ass and back as I pour it slowly, splashing water all over the floor, but you say nothing about it, simply let your head fall forward onto your forearms, letting your ass raise even higher out of the water. And once the soap is gone, I just can't help myself. I want to taste you. I want to taste you so badly. So I do, My mouth goes first to your pussy, opening wide over as much of it as I can and licking my tongue through it, tasting your juices and pressing my upper body into your legs. Yes, this is good. My mouth trails slowly down to your clit, circling, circling, teasing around, and you're pressing back into me, wanting more pressure, wanting my tongue where you need it, on top of your clit instead of circling maddeningly around.

My hands want more to hold onto and they slink their way forward to your breasts, feeling them and testing their tips with my fingers, pulling and twisting gently as my tongue continues its circling dance.

"Oh fuck, Emma," you say and it's sinful the way you say my name and the way you curse. Absolutely sinful and I want to hear more. So I give you more of my tongue, dipping it deeper inside your pussy, reveling in the wetness that comes with it, back down to your clit, and around and around I tease.

"Oh, more," you groan and I oblige, working my tongue in a more focused way, rubbing back and forth, back and forth, working up the tempo and continuing to play with your nipples and you're thrusting back against me, my nose coming so close to your ass as you do it. "God, Emma, your fingers, please," you gasp, and my face is wet with your arousal and I oblige you again, dipping first one, then two fingers into your pussy, pressing and pressing and curling and curling, but now my hand is in the way of your clit and I'm faced with something new.

Somewhere I've been wanting to put my mouth since the first time I saw you. Is that bad? To want to put your mouth on someone's ass when you don't even know them? I guess it is, but it's true and I don't hesitate any longer. No, I lean forward and press a gentle kiss to your hole, just one kiss and you hiss with pleasure, pressing your ass closer to my face.

"Oh god," you murmur into your arms.

Just Emma, I think with a grin. Just Emma.

Another kiss, and this one is more open-mouthed, caressing and I can feel every fold of skin with my tongue. Oh it's incredible. If I wasn't already under water, I think I'd be soaked through with how turned on I am. I lick harder, pleasuring your sensitive opening while my fingers press inward and my thumb reaches down to rub against your clit. Oh yes, three different sites of pleasure and you begin to unravel, pressing harder against me, wanting more. I give it to you, darting my tongue inside, testing how open you'll be. And you are, you're so relaxed and turned on I can't help but wonder how many times you've done something like this - anal I mean, or rimming I guess since we haven't quite gotten there yet - to make you feel so at ease. That turns me on even more somehow, that former Queen Regina likes anal play.

Fuck yes. I press my tongue in harder, fucking you now with it and let the fingers of my free hand come up and join my tongue. I want more and I think you do too. One finger slips in easily enough, combined with the fingers in your pussy and my thumb on your clit, I'd imagine your eyes are rolling back in your head. Sure enough, your knees buckle a little, but you manage to keep your footing. The finger slips farther inside, and I revel in the tightness, the warmth, the way it feels different than your pussy. Different, but good. My tongue licks around my fingers, keeping your hole wet.

"Another finger?" I ask, my breath quivering against your cheeks, causing the flesh there to rise and goose-pimple. You nod but don't look back. Mm, so this really is your thing, isn't it? I oblige you with another finger, making sure it's dripping wet from my mouth and press it slowly inside. It's stretching you out and you gasp at the intrusion but push even harder onto my hand. Two in the ass and two in your pussy. Jesus, I don't think I could be more turned on. You're practically fucking yourself on my fingers and tongue and guttural groans escape from your throat.

"Emma," you gasp at last, turning your head to meet my eyes.

"Yes," I ask, looking up from behind you.

"I want more." My eyes widen.

"More?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me."

The way you say it, prim and proper like a lady but how can you possibly sound lady-like and say you want me to fuck you? I just don't get it. But then again, you are a conundrum.

"What would you like me to do?" I ask and you grin back at me with a brief wave of your hand. There it is. A strap on already attached to my body. And oh yes. It's the double ended kind, where the thick bulb curves up into my body and presses against my clit. Magic is wonderful.

When I look down, I can't take my eyes off of it. Oh, I am going to do so many wonderful things to you with this.

It's the color of my flesh, and it's humming with sensation, maybe some type of vibrator is in there? God, it feels good. I can't wait to bury this inside you.

"What do you think?" you ask, pulling me out of my trance. I shake my head to clear it and look into your eyes. They're dark and full of mischief, but you still look like you want to be fucked. I open my mouth, can't think of what to say, and then close it again.

A grin is all I can come up with. "Well, don't just stand there. Come on dear, I've been waiting."

One nod and I move, stepping forward to do as you say. My hands meet your hips, squeeze your waist and pull you back towards me. You come willingly, widening your legs slightly for me. I grasp it again, unused to the girth and springy feel of it, and line the tip up with your pussy. It's wet. It's really wet. But I don't even have to press forward, because you're pressing back, impaling yourself on it. And at the sight of your warmth covering me like a glove, my eyes roll back in my head at the pleasure. My end is stretching so deliciously. Oh and there's more. Deeper and deeper I sink inside of you and as I look down, the image of it disappearing inside you is so incredible.

"Regina," I whisper hoarsely, and you turn to look at me again, a smirk hinting on the corner of your lips.

"Yes, dear?"

"I'm going to fuck you now," the words spill from my lips and it's going to take quite a bit of energy to stave off an immediate orgasm. But you only smile and turn back around, those dark eyes just daring me to do so while you arch your back once more, thrusting your ass backwards onto me. "Oh!"

Oh fuck. And that's it, I grab harder at your hips, withdraw myself almost all the way out and thrust back inside, filling you up, and I wonder if you feel the tip of this cock squeezing past every wall you have. Your groan spurs me on, and I slowly pull in and out, in and out, timing my thrusts with the movements of your hips.

"Yes!" you cry out, moving more erratically and I follow you, meeting your every motion, feeling my abs and lower back muscles strain with the exertion. Thrusting, moving my hips forward and backward, pistoning in and out. I've never realized what an excellent workout this is, and god does it feel good. "Yes, Emma, please don't stop!"

Your voice is higher now, it's a plea but it's also an order because I know that if I stop now I'm in for some serious trouble. But I'm about to come, and I don't know how much longer I can hold it back. Shit.

I try to think of something that's not sexy at all, something like four-day-old garbage or my stinky old principal from 8th grade in Oregon. But my brain drags me back to the present, back to the sight of your naked back and the way your spine arches beautifully up to your neck, the neck that I've left a few marks on because it's too perfect not to. And your hair, the way it bounces even when I'm fucking you from behind, it's like you're on a runway or shooting a commercial for shampoo. Shit, I don't know how you do it, but you're so beautiful.

And your ass, god I can't even. My eyes drift between your cheeks to your unused hole. One finger quickly darts into my mouth and then back down to your ass. We're in the perfect position for this, and I rub slow circles around your hole as I fuck your pussy, and then slide it in, slowly, ever so slowly and enjoy the sounds of pleasure you make in response. I can feel with my finger through the thin wall the cock sliding in and out and out of you. It's so good. And I can't help myself anymore.

My hands grip your ass even harder, and I grit my teeth because I'm not sure if I can keep thrusting after I've come. "Regina . . . oh fuck, I'm coming," I grind out through an almost closed mouth, and I can feel it begin to build up at the base of my belly, swirling and hot.

That thought slows the process down a bit, but not for long. As soon as your pussy tightens around the toy, I look down just in time to see your nails claw across the stone and your head throw back in pleasure. Oh thank you, I send praises to anyone listening and thrust harder into you.

A guttural sound escapes your throat, followed by a string of expletives as I slam our bodies together and relax into the feeling of letting go. I come just as you finish, with one last push and a tensing of my entire body. It crashes over me like I'm stuck out in the ocean, pummeled by waves and waves of it, and the sight of you, still moving and gasping only heightens my pleasure.

"Fuck," I whisper, as I fall forward onto your back, breathing hard and resting my strained muscles.

"Mmm, yes," you say, still resting your head on your forearms. "I want it again."

"I haven't worn you out?" I say, kissing your beautiful skin stretched across your back muscles, having caught my breath and slowed my crazed heart rate.

"Not quite, my savior," you say mischievously with a glance backwards. Hmm, your savior huh? I can work with that.

"Well, my Queen, I hope you're ready then, because I'm still hard for you," I grin.

"I am. I'm so ready for you," you say, remaining on your forearms with your ass in the air. "Fuck me again."

I nod, wanting so much to thrust hard into you, but knowing that I should take it slow. You've just had an orgasm and I want you feel good, not ripped apart. I press the toy slowly back into you, and so slowly, just gradually, you begin moving against me. Your pussy opens up and squeezes around the toy.

"Oh!" you cry out, but not in pain. It sounded like it felt good, but I need to make sure.

"You okay?" I ask, pausing my movements even though I can already feel the stirrings of my next huge orgasm.

"Yes," you say with a nod of your head. "More than okay. Fuck me hard, please."

My eyes widen. I can do that. One hand trails across your ass, feeling around it, spreading your cheeks, feeling the contact of my skin against your skin. The hand goes back to your hip and I pull out slowly, pushing back in just as slow. I like to tease.

A gasp of pleasure from you and I keep going slow, pushing in and pulling out, over and over. Maddeningly slow. "Please, Emma," you beg and I smile.

Begging. That's something I can get used to. This time when I pull out, I don't hold back, pushing in hard and filling you to the brim. "Ahhhh!" you shriek and push up from your elbows to your hands, arcing your back farther and pressing your ass into me. I pull out and do it again, with as much force as before.

"Yes, just like that," you say and I follow your orders, pulling you into me as I fuck you, fucking your pussy like a madwoman. I move farther up your body, positioning my body higher up and holding myself up on the stones for a better angle. The movements of my hips continue, in and out, in and out.

"Emma," you say breathlessly, and I slow my thrusts to let you speak.

"What do you need?" I ask, ignoring the almost overwhelming need to keep thrusting.

"I want to be on top," you say, and my smile widens. I like the sound of that. I pull out slowly and move to the side, lying back on the stones and letting you crawl on top of me, the toy standing proudly up in the air, thick and still gleaming with your wetness. Facing me, you straddle my middle, reach behind yourself to line my cock up and press it into your pussy, pushing down slowly, opening yourself up again. Now I get to watch your facial expressions as I fill you. Your eyes close and mouth opens when you close around the cock, your cheeks flush against my thighs and this is as deep as it gets.

"I'm going to come, Emma," you say as your eyes open and you stare into my soul. Now? But you keep talking as your hips begin to rock. Oh that feels really nice, pressing my end deep inside me. "I'm going to come, looking into your eyes and rubbing myself against you."

"Regina," I choke out, because I'm not sure if I can handle you talking dirty to me. I won't last as long as you want me to, I promise. But thankfully, you stop talking and start really moving. Your hips rock forward and backward, your clit making contact with my lower abs on every downward stroke.

I reach forward to play with your nipples and smirk as your eyes flutter closed again. Good to know. And you lean even farther forward, resting your hands at my sides on the stones beneath us, giving yourself even more leverage to thrust against me.

"Oh," you groan and thrust harder, moving your hips faster against me and your motions again become erratic as you get closer to your peak.

"Shit," I grit through closed teeth because it feels so good. So damn good. And just a few more thrusts and gentle squeezing of your nipples and your hands fly to my body, one to my throat and the other to my chest, nails digging in to my skin. The one on my throat squeezes, not around my trachea but the muscles on the side, putting pressure and barely obstructing my breathing. Wow. The simultaneous pain and surprise send me over the edge and I buck my hips upwards into you, coming hard and pulsing around my end of the cock.

Your continuous jerky movements, closed eyes, and still squeezing hand are telling me that this is one powerful orgasm. I let go of your nipples and run my hands soothingly along your back as you ride it out, finishing on top of me and letting your body go slack against me. You lay your head on my chest, still trembling in my arms, the toy still deep inside you.

"Emma, that was incredible," you say gently, lifting your head to look in my eyes. I nod, in awe of you.

"It was," I agree, and you bend down to let our lips meet in a soft, loving kiss. You pull back for a moment, concern written on your face.

"It wasn't too much for you? I put my hand on your throat at the end. I'm sorry about that," you say, brow furrowing. But I shake my head and pull you back down for another reassuring kiss.

"No, don't apologize. I liked it," I say, surprising even myself a little. "I liked all of it."

You smile and kiss me again. "I love you, Emma."

"I love you too," I say and mean it with every inch of my being.

* * *

I blink the sleep from my eyes at the coming commotion. Stomping up the stairs and arguing voices. Can't be good, whatever it is, my brain supplies groggily. But as long as it's not my parents arguing with you, I think we're good.

The door swings open, accompanied by a little-too-late and maybe an afterthought, "knock knock!" Without any actual knocking and you stride in purposefully, breakfast tray in hand, aroma of coffee and what might be bacon wafting pleasantly into my nostrils. I sit up and shake out any remaining sleepy spider webs.

And then my hopeful vision of breakfast in bed followed by bacon and coffee fueled morning sex is fully shattered when both Ruby and Belle follow you into the room. I'm not even dressed!

Shit!

"Regina, jesus, can you give a girl some warning next time?" I cry, pulling the covers over my absolutely naked body and staring wide-eyed at the breakfast ruiners. Ruby gives me a brief once over and a half-smirk as she finds the nearby chaise lounge and sits down, Belle next to her who pretty much ignores me.

You place the tray on the bedside table, pour out two cups of coffee, (thank you for magically conjured coffee otherwise I wouldn't be able to stand this enchanted forest without it) and hand me one.

"Thanks," I say, and with a nod, you wave your hand and a magical flurry of purple washes over me, leaving me fully dressed and on top of the freshly made bed. "Oh-kay, thank you Mary Poppins, and you'll have to teach me that sometime, but could someone please explain why you two are in here at the ass-crack of dawn?"

I expect a laugh at that, maybe even a smile, but I get neither as the three of you look between each other, waiting for someone to speak first. "Well, spit it out!"

"Tell Emma what you told me, please Ruby," you say pointedly.

Ruby nods, head bobbing excitedly and she has that look in her eyes, that same one she would get in the diner when she had a juicy piece of gossip and just needed the right person to spill it to. "So Belle and I were up early this morning, having some breakfast and generally minding our own business when we heard loud arguing and some thuds coming from directly upstairs from us," she pauses, glances over at Belle who blushes furiously.

Interesting, I note. "What time was this?" I ask, taking advantage of her pause, because I think I know why Belle is blushing. They've been behaving around each other the same way you and I have been. And I noticed Rumple sitting by himself at the feast, staring darkly at the two of them. He can't be happy about that, but I guess that's what happens when you become the Dark One and stockholm syndrome your supposed True Love. He left the feast early, stomping off in the direction of the dungeons, awaiting his next summoning from Zelena probably.

"Pretty early. Still dark early," Ruby mumbles and then plunges forward. "Anyway, so Belle and I, curious about what all the noise was, we decided to go up and see if anything was wrong."

"We probably shouldn't have gone up there," Belle interjects, looking guilty and embarrassed. "Whatever is going on between them really isn't our business."

Ruby nudges her with a slim shoulder. "It is our business if we think one of them is going to put our people's lives in danger. That's why we decided to tell Regina when we saw her in the kitchens earlier."

I shake my head. This is going nowhere. And you seem to agree. "Can you please tell Emma who you're talking about? Or at least finish telling her what you've heard?"

"Oh yeah, sure," Ruby says, touching her hand to her temple. "So anyway, we go up there and listen outside the door to Zelena and Glinda's room. Honestly I was surprised they were even staying together, the way they'd been avoiding each other and arguing anytime they were within shouting distance."

"Yes, but this time was much worse," Belle adds. "Glinda was crying and one of them was throwing things. It didn't sound good at all."

"Right, and the interesting part, and the reason we thought we should tell you two, is that they were arguing about the way to get rid of the undead in the Land without Magic," Ruby lets that sentence hang in the air for a moment, triumphant expression glowing on her face at their discovery.

Okay, so that solves what was next on our list. Get rid of the zombies. But how?

"What did they say, specifically? There really is a way?"

"I heard Glinda say something like _'It is not going to happen, Zelena. We cannot risk something like that. It might not even work._ _And besides, who here would let you get away with it?'_ "

"Yes," Belle says, nodding excitedly. "And then Zelena said, _'This is the only way Glinda. Maybe it's the only blood that needs to be shed, and I need your wand for it, especially if I'm going to do it alone.'_ "

"And then Glinda said, _'You're not doing anything alone.'_ "

"Shit," I say, glancing over at you. "Do you think her wand has enough power in it to enact a spell that powerful?"

You shrug. "I doubt it. While it did seem to be powerful enough to overcome Glinda's weakened powers being in another world, I think quite a bit more magic would be necessary for a spell of that magnitude."

"How much more magic?" Belle asks nervously.

You look up, think for a moment and then level your gaze at each of us in turn. "I would think some sort of life-blood sacrifice would be necessary."

"You think she's going to sacrifice someone?" Ruby's eyes go wide, but you shake your head.

"I think she wants to redeem herself. I think she'll try to find a way to do it without hurting anyone else. But she's killed and maimed before. If she does try to take someone with her to sacrifice, we'll need to stop her. Or if she tries to sacrifice herself, there has to be another way."

We agree to find Glinda and warn her, to help Zelena however we can with this zombie situation before she does something drastic. So we head downstairs, me with my half-drunk coffee and a slice of bacon in hand, and the rest of our crew in tow. I tuck my gun in my waistband, just in case because it's the only weapon I have here, besides magic. I gave David his sword back and he could barely hold the proud tears back that I had used it. I didn't tell him I didn't actually use it.

Glinda, along with everyone else in the castle is in the kitchen scrounging around for some breakfast. You march up to her authoritatively, hands on your black leather-clad hips. I really like those pants, by the way. Your ass in them -

I'm drawn from my silent, but obvious admiration of your backside by a sharp elbow to my ribs. Thanks Ruby, for that, and then I start listening to the actual conversation taking place in front of me.

"I said, isn't that right, Emma?" you're staring at me, eyes narrowed and I nod my head vigorously, hoping I was supposed to actually answer in the affirmative. You accept it, thankfully, and turn back to Glinda. "I recognize the look in her eyes. She's depressed, quiet and brooding. Not so different from me a few months back."

"So you are trying to tell me she might harmify herself? I thought she wanted so desperately to make things better; that is what she has been arguing with me about."

"Exactly," you nod. "We think she might use her own blood and possibly someone else's to enact a curse to cure the Land without Magic of the undead. She believes she has something to fight for, but that perhaps it is too far beyond her reach now. Probably she doesn't think you'll be able to love her with all of her darkness."

You glance briefly at me, and that little speech may have been loaded with some double meanings, but anyway - Glinda's eyes grow wide. She hadn't considered this, obviously, but the idea of it scares her.

"What length is she willing to go to achieve her redemptification?" Glinda asks quietly and then looks up at Regina. "Do you think she plans to kill herself? She has been quiet and unlike herself."

"I don't know what she's going to try," you answer truthfully. "But we know she needs your wand to enact her spell, and we need to let her know she's not alone."

Glinda eyes widen in alarm as she sets her jaw and clenches her fists. "We must find her, and quickly!"

"Where is she?" I ask, standing close to you so that we can teleport ourselves quickly. Glinda shakes her head.

"I do not know. I left her in our . . . oh goodness," Glinda gasps, tears filling her eyes. "I left her in our room alone with the slippers and the wand!"

"Shit!" I growl and grab your arm. We should probably take Glinda with us as well, but you're already disappearing us with your purple smoke. Upon our silent arrival in Glinda and Zelena's room, we happen to catch your half-sister in the middle of a conversation with Rumpelstiltskin.

She doesn't see us, as we've appeared behind the draperies and the smoke slips harmlessly out the open window. Nicely done.

"You're saying you have a way to heal my son?" Rumple says excitedly. "You're certain it is going to work, aren't you?"

As we peek around the curtain, we can see Zelena nodding impatiently, nervously looking towards the door, as if she's expecting it to burst open at any moment. "Of course it's going to work. Now, if you please, summon your son and we will take him with us to the Land without Magic."

"You're planning on healing them all at once?"

"Yes, of course," Zelena growls and then holds up the dagger. She's through waiting and listening to his questions. "Dark One, summon your son here immediately."

Rumple obliges, snapping his fingers and zombie-Neal appears, bound and groaning his usual zombie groan. He looks worse, skin falling off his face, clothes looking especially tattered and the smell is horrible. Like roadkill on a hot July day.

"Wonderful," she says, placing the dagger in her cloak. With that flash of her clothing beneath, we can just see the glittery wand peeking out next to the dagger. She grips the shoes as Rumple takes her arm, holding onto a squirming Neal with his free hand. But just as she pulls apart the shoes to click them together again, the bedroom door flies open. Glinda stands before her, mouth wide open, expression wild. But one step into the room is all she manages before Rumple freezes her on the spot.

She halts in midair, arms and legs frozen almost comically in a runner's position. Everyone else is behind Glinda, Ruby and Belle and even Granny is back there with her crossbow. But they've all come too late. Zelena clicks the shoes together and a portal yawns open in front of them. We've run out of time.

"Land without Magic!" she yells into the void.

We have to do something and now! I jump into action. Grabbing your arm, I go for it, clenching my eyes closed and focusing with everything I have on the spot next to Zelena. I've never done this before, but for goodness sakes Zelena is heading off by herself with Rumple and who knows what she's going to do.

With what feels like a flash of lightning and the hardest compression my lungs and organs have ever felt, we disappear and jolt back into existence practically on top of Zelena. She's also disappearing though, vanishing into the swirling abyss, so I reach out, hoping you still have hold of me, grab her fading arm and grip for dear life.

When the familiar pull clenches me again, this time not as hard as my lightning teleportation, I try to feel around for your hand. But this clenching is too much and I can't focus; I can't even open my eyes.

Suddenly we land hard on a pile of tree roots. Smells like Maine. Pine trees and sea spray and the yawning summer air. Seems like yesterday we were here, running from the zombies and running towards my sleeping parents and towards the next few days of wild adventure. I don't know how much more adventure I can take.

I also don't know if my legs are broken or not. They hurt pretty badly. But on the bright side, I can feel you now, heavy and breathing and on top of me. Shit that hurts. No offense or anything, but that was not a clean landing. Not at all graceful like the last time I saw you do this.

You groan and Zelena groans and zombie Neal groans too. And then Zelena's head clears I guess because she realizes that she's got company. Us. "Rumple, freeze them!"

He sits up from his sprawled position and waves his hand at us. My head is pretty groggy from the impact, and I expect to feel the familiar hindrance that is his freezing spell, but there's nothing. His eyes widen in alarm.

We've landed outside the town line. No magic.


	32. Chapter 32

"Great," Zelena says, scrambling to her feet, dagger in hand. She drags zombie-Neal up to a standing position and presses the dagger to his throat. The only leverage she has left. "Now, if you please, take me to the place with the most magic, seeing as this place has none."

Rumple holds his hands up. "Zelena, please. Don't hurt him."

"He will be just fine," she growls, frog-marching Neal a few steps backwards. Almost snarling, eyes wide, she looks like a caged animal, feral and at the end of her rope. "As long as you get me to the nearest place of magic."

"Zelena, this really isn't necessary. You want to solve the undead problem, and we want to help you. You don't have to threaten Neal anymore," you say, trying to placate, but the cornered look remains.

"Sure, you want to help," Zelena scoffs and then rolls her eyes sarcastically. "Yes, let's get Zelena to a place with no magic, where the Dark One has no power to protect her and then steal the dagger from her, yes, of course you want to help."

"Okay, okay," I say, standing up and jabbing my thumb behind me. "The town line is that way, I think, and we'll take you to the wishing well."

"It has the most magic?"

I nod, but she grimaces and shakes her head at me and you. "I don't understand why you two thought it was necessary to come along. Everything would have gone perfectly fine without you."

"You thought you could kidnap Rumple, use the wand to combine powers with the Dark One and that would be enough to power the spell?" You ask, raising an eyebrow, wondering like the rest of us what exactly she's planning to do with all of her magical artifacts.

"I didn't want to put anyone else in danger. But I needed someone to combine magic with."

Now I don't know if I should find that endearing or just stupid. She was trying to protect us? But is that enough magic with a little spilled blood to make it all work? This is an entire world of cursed zombies. I sure hope it's enough. And anyway, we're here now, so I guess we'll just have to see what she's really up to, and if she needs more magic-users, well, here we are. Although, if this spell requires a blood sacrifice from everyone, I'm not so sure I want to be a part of that after all.

Honestly though, after what you talked about with Zelena showing signs of withdrawing and depression, what if Zelena plans to do something more than just a blood sacrifice?

It's a silent walk to the road, where I'm wondering if I'm the only one thinking Zelena has more up her sleeve than she's letting on. But I seriously doubt it because just look at everything we've had to go through to get here. Zelena keeps the knife on Neal, and marches behind us, making sure we don't try anything.

Once we get to the road, I'm expecting to see some lumbering zombies trudging toward us, always hungry, always read for fresh flesh. And I'm not disappointed.

But thankfully there's only one. She's a loner walker, stumbling around the roadside ditch right next to the town line. My gun feels heavy in my waistband as soon as I spot her. I pull you aside, next to a tree, and Rumple follows our lead. I silently nudge my head towards her until you and Rumple see her too. She's moving towards us and towards the town line, right where we need to go.

Again, I think of the gun and shake my head. No, I don't want to kill any more of them, not unless we really have to. There's a chance we can bring them back.

"We need a distraction," I say quietly, distracted and watching her every move. What I wasn't expecting was the vice-like grip on the back of my arm and the slamming of my body into the tree we're hiding behind. "Shit!" I gasp and turn to look at you.

Your eyes are blazing into mine. "The last time you said that, Emma, you slid across a floor and flew out a skyscraper window to what I thought was your death. Don't even think about it," you bite out every word and I cower a bit under your gaze. You're right. I didn't think about that. Flying by the seat of my pants again.

"Right, sorry. What should we do about her then?"

You relax a little, releasing me from the tree and letting go of my arm. Ouch. I rub it, vowing to think a little more before I speak in the future.

"I say we wait and see if she can cross the town line, to see if the barrier is up," Rumple says from behind us.

Okay, I nod. She's close to it, and it won't take her long to get there. Although I know it doesn't matter, not if we can't heal the land, not if no one wants to come back here and try to remake our home. And sure enough, the zombie woman wanders towards the line, steps right over it but then zig zags right back out, wandering into the woods opposite of us.

The barrier is down. But that doesn't mean the place is overrun with zombies. There aren't any people in the town to be turned into them. And it doesn't mean there's no magic at all. But it does mean we can get in and anyone can leave without losing their memories.

Okay, that was great, I didn't have to run out there, distract the zombie or anything. We wait a bit longer and then venture out onto the road. The Storybrooke sign is there, nondescript, letting us know where the line is, even if we can't see its orange glow from this side. And when we cross it, same order, Zelena in the back with Neal, I only feel the slightest washing of magic. Just like last time we were here, there's not a lot of magic left here.

The well is where we need to be, so that's where we go. And when we reach it, I'm hit with all the times we've traveled to and from this point. I want to know if Zelena plans on coming back with us.

"Are you sure there isn't another way?" I ask her. "There has to be something that doesn't involve self-sacrifice, right?"

Zelena's head snaps over to me, her eyes boring into me as she reaches into her cloak and pulls out an ancient book, small and leather bound. She places it on the edge of the well and smirks, but it doesn't reach her eyes. They're still filled with emptiness.

"Savior, do you have such high regard for me and my intentions? An optimistic view of my moral progress, ha!" she says humorously, flipping to the correct page.

And in a flash, she's pulled out the wand and grasped Rumple's arm. "Dark One," she commands. "Freeze them."

It happens before we can react, and even if we could, how well would our magic work apart here? We're frozen. And Rumple standing next to her, eyes wide, helpless and glancing sporadically over at Neal, who is squirming around on the ground, still tied up.

"This would have been much easier without you two here," she says, almost regretfully as she forces Rumple to his knees.

She holds the dagger to his neck and licks her lips. "I have no intention of killing myself. But as for you, Rumple, you are more responsible for the curses in the worlds than anyone. And I for one am quite finished dealing with the consequences of your planning and tinkering and manipulating and deal making. All for you to have your son."

A pause, a glance over at zombie-Neal. A half-hearted smile. "Well, you'll get him back, you just won't be around to see him live. Again."

"Zelena," Rumple says, voice tinged with panic. "I'm your father. You . . . surely . . . wouldn't do this to me,"

"Oh wouldn't I? My father," Zelena spits, leaning in close so that they're looking into each others' eyes. "You may have contributed to my being born, but you've never been my father. And it's what you did, Rumple. Back in Oz, back when I thought I could trust you, I thought I had a mentor, finally someone I could call my father. Someone who could teach me to reign in my wild and unruly magic.

"You betrayed me. You fed him lies. When my magic became too powerful, you fed information to the Wizard about me and Glinda, that I was the enemy, that we were responsible for the rebellions and the food shortages and the slave labor and the Animals losing their rights. You told him we were religious fanatics, fervent followers of the Time Dragon and willing to die for our beliefs. You made me an outcast. You almost cost me Glinda."

She pauses, letting the dagger sink into the glittery skin of his neck just a little. Just enough for a few drops of blood to run down the blade and onto her hand. She lifts her hand to the well where the Grimmerie rests, innocent and nondescript, but so full of promise. Dripping slowly, the blood makes perfect little dark circles on the fallen Grimmerie pages. When they hit the pages, the drops dance and glow like water in a frying pan of oil.

"And then you finally did cost me Glinda. Your curse to get your son back. But no more. No one will have to suffer because of you again, Dark One."

"If you kill me with that, dearie, you'll be just as dark as me," he whispers, watching her every move, eyes wild with unknown.

From my frozen spot next to them, I can hear the deep breath Zelena inhales. "I'll never be like you. Dark One, I command you to remove your heart."

His heart? The only thing I can move right now is my eyes, and I can just make eye contact with you. Unfortunately I can't speak, but if I could, I would ask you why the hell Zelena needs his heart. Is this part of the spell? And I guess it is because Rumple grimaces as he reaches into his chest and wrenches the heart out. He'll die without his heart, if she destroys it. So this _is_ going to be a sacrifice. Just not Zelena's sacrifice.

But wait, what about the Dark One? If she kills him, won't she become the Dark One? Does it matter that he's destroying his own heart? Is it her intent that matters? My head starts to hurt and I can't even move it.

Eyes wide and open mouthed, Rumple looks down at the heart in his hand. Black. Swirling with what looks like a dark, oily substance. Only the tiniest bit of glowing red shines through the bottom, the love he has for Neal and Belle, maybe.

"Now hold out your hand," she commands him. He obeys and she grabs his forearm, combining their magic and the heart shakes violently in his grasp. **"** With your heart, and our combined blood, I will bring back the people of the Land without Magic."

I have to do something. She can't become the Dark One. With a monumental effort, I focus my energy on my vocal chords, trying to rip them free of Rumple's freezing spell. I can see you struggling to do the same. You manage it first. "Zelena! No!"

But it's too late. With the hand holding the dagger, she makes a long, shallow slice up her forearm, parting her flesh and allowing their blood to fall together from the blade onto the book's pages. Zelena tucks the dagger into her cloak, storing it for the task ahead of her. What she does need now is the wand.

That wand, sparkling and gaudy, just like Glinda emerges now from the cloak. We scream at her, struggle hopelessly and fruitlessly against our bonds. But she ignores us. And when she speaks again, we get quiet to hear her words.

_"tace sina agar, i' agar done raika. aa' ta poika sina ndor en umartemplas."_

A glow of green flashes from the book. Zelena drops the wand. Picks up the dagger again. From her dripping hand, their blood flows freely now over the pages – black and red and thrumming. She wrenches the heart from Rumple's hand and stabs it with the dagger. His heart glows – an eerie iridescent, phosphorescent thing.

His eyes flutter once, twice and then slowly shut. His lifeless body crumples to the ground.

"What did she say?" I whisper, my will not as strong here without touching you. So far I've only managed to get my face free of her freezing spell. Your eyes are wide, following the flashes of light emerging from the blood stained pages and heart. Zelena's arms quiver as she tries to hold everything steady.

"Take this blood, this blood of wrongdoing. May it cleanse this land of curses," you whisper back. Elvish maybe?

But even with the huge amount of power she's unleashed, it doesn't seem to be enough. The light and noise gets bright momentarily and peters out - we can see the resignation and realization in Zelena's eyes - the curse will need more than just blood to be broken. It will need more than just Rumple's life.

But now the darkness from Rumple's heart siphons up and out and starts swirling back down towards Zelena's body. A huge mass of tangled darkness, swiping around like some possessed snakes takes shape and then loses it again. It's heading for her, ready to make her the Dark One. As the curse spirals down, closer and closer to her, the energy from the Dark One rises, increasing in intensity.

"She killed him with the dagger," you say in disbelief over the rising noise. "She's the Dark One. But the curse will need more than just a life. It needs the Dark One himself. Or herself, now I suppose."

Zelena seems to realize this at the same time, holds out the dagger with her name on it, her own bleeding arm, everything swirling with rising black tar and the now weak light emerging from the Grimmerie.

She turns to us, helplessly watching the darkness take her over. This is not what she had planned. But perhaps, deep down beneath her attempted fearless facade, she knew it might happen this way.

"Maybe it's not so bad that you two are here," she grunts, the dark stripes hiding her face momentarily. She struggles to stand upright and we have to blink rapidly against the rising wind hitting our frozen forms. "Please tell Glinda that I love her, that I wish things could have been different."

"Zelena!" I yell. "There has to be another way!"

But I know it's not true. You know it's not true and so does Zelena. She closes her eyes and stabs the dagger deep into her flesh. Into her own heart. It plunges like a shovel into snow. Her eyes open, filled with pain and sadness and then resignation. Relief. She takes one, two rattling breaths, the last death rattle, and topples over. Two lives.

The spell is completed, using the Dark One's magic to fuel it.

The heart and the dagger and Zelena disappear in an explosive, enormous ball of light radiating outward. I'm blinded momentarily and knocked over. You fall on top of me in a tangle of limbs and bones and expletives. After a moment, I manage to open my eyes. Things here on the ground are better, not as bright, but I can definitely see where it's gone. I look briefly around.

The light continues upward like a missile, exploding again way, way up in the sky and reaching out in an enormous cascade of bursts and lightning and golden fireworks. You'd have to be able to see that from space, probably, it's so huge. And it continues to expand, explosions radiating outward for what must be thousands of miles like a nuclear reaction.

Was that enough? Did that reach far enough out for the whole world to be healed?

"Unnh," says a voice from around the other side of the wishing well. So zombie Neal is awake. As soon as I can feel my legs again, we'll find out if it worked. I hope it worked.

"You okay?" I ask as I unceremoniously push you off my bruised body.

"Oof," you reply and then groan as you turn over and sit up, shielding your eyes from the brightness. "Was that it?"

"Yeah, I think it was."

"What happened?" zombie Neal says, rolling over to his back and staring up at the trees. Wait, what?

"Neal!" I yell and scramble to my feet. Jesus that light is bright. I make it over to him and sure enough, he's okay. I pat his chest and run my hands over his face, checking for decomposing flesh. It doesn't look very good, but at least he looks alive again. "You're alive."

"I am?" he groans. "I hurt like hell, though."

All I can do is smile through my happy tears, because it worked. Zelena did it. She brought him back. Maybe she brought the others back too.

Zelena. You're already up and crawling towards the spot where she was, still hurting from the blast and all that brightness. All that's left are Rumple's body, the shoes, Glinda's wand and a scorched mark across the ground.

It's over. But Neal looks okay and you're alive. You move forward, kneeling next to where she previously stood on the leaves.

"Zelena, you did it," you say quietly, looking around and up into the sky where sparkles of light are still streaming back to the earth like an enormous fireworks display. You look over at Neal, who has managed to pull himself up to sitting position with a nearby tree.

"What happened?" Neal says, looking around at the scene. There's no one around but me and you and all that light. "Why are we here?"

Too many questions, such bright lights. I shake my head. This is not going to be easy to explain to him. Not after all the deals that were made for Rumple's life and his. It's been a big mess and it still kind of is. Except now the Dark One is gone again and Neal knows the price of bringing him back.

"Emma," he says slowly, seeing everything play out on my face. My back protests and my legs scream at me for relief from their nearly constant punishment over the past few days as I strain to help him sit up. The first thing his eyes see is Rumple's collapsed form. "Is that my dad?"

"Neal," I say, eyes drifting over to you for a moment. I'm the one who should tell him. Maybe it'll be easier coming from me. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Why? What happened?"

But I can see it in his broken eyes. He knows. And he's been through this before. It can't be easy losing your dad twice, well, more than that really, if you count all the times Rumple abandoned him.

"He's gone."

"How?"

I consider for a moment lying to him, telling him that Rumple sacrificed himself for this world, to bring everyone back, acted selflessly and fixed everything. But I can't do that. I can't lie about what happened here, and especially not when I have to go back and tell Glinda what Zelena did, for them and for all of her wrongdoings here.

"Zelena killed him, used him in her spell to reverse what she did with the zombies, to bring you back and to bring everyone here back. She sacrificed herself, too," I say quietly, squeezing his shoulder, hoping to give him at least a little support.

It's too much to comprehend apparently because he just stares at me, looks over at you blankly, then back to me and finally up into the sky where the last of the lights are fizzling out overhead.

"He's gone again."

I nod. "And this time, for good. Zelena, when she killed him with the dagger, made herself the Dark One."

Twin tears leak from his eyes as he blinks rapidly, trying to hold them back. "So I couldn't resurrect him again, even if I wanted to."

I shake my head no.

He buries his face in his hands and mourns the loss of his father again.


	33. The Finale

The journey back is anything but easy.

And when we get to the castle, a lookout spots us and tells everyone else. So naturally there will be a huge crowd waiting for our triumphant return. Before facing them, however, we help Neal place Rumple's body under a peaceful looking tree to be buried once we tell everyone, particularly Belle, what happened.

I'm so exhausted from the past week that I don't see half the faces we pass, only blurs of curiosity and whispers. "What happened?" "Is that Baelfire?" "I thought he was undead." "Where's Zelena?" "Where's Rumpelstiltskin?" "Where's the dagger?"

Thank goodness for you. You take charge, your voice takes on its mayoral tone and you plainly state who we need to see and speak to at that moment. What we don't need is a public spectacle. Loved ones are gone and we need to tell their families and people who will miss them most.

My parents come along because they're the king and queen now I guess, which doesn't bother me and doesn't seem to bother you. Although I remember you saying something about them wanting to establish some sort of democracy or republic here. I don't know. Glinda and Belle are the main ones, of course me and you, Neal and my parents all file into a sort of conference room off the main dining room or great hall or whatever it is.

We don't even need to say anything really. The devastation on Glinda's face says it all. She knew as soon as we arrived without Zelena, handing her the wand and the slippers, that our worst fears had been confirmed, but it wasn't quite like she thought it would be. And so Belle, being Rumple's former girlfriend or True Love or whatever deserves to know what happened to Rumple.

Recounting the story for everyone and for Neal the second time is not easy. Glinda tries for a while to hide her tears but eventually she breaks down at the part where we tell her Zelena's last words, that she did what she could to redeem herself, even if it meant taking the Dark One and his powers with her. Belle sheds tears also, but I think she had given up hope of Rumple ever truly being hers again long ago. Mainly, she comforts Neal, because poor guy, how many times can a guy lose his dad?

Our words of consolation and condolences seem to fall flat until Glinda stands, maybe intending to retire to her rooms for the day. "I thank you for trying to stop her, to help her somehow find another way. I know that neither of you wanted this. My Zelena, my tortured Zelena," Glinda's voice falls to a whisper as she clasps each of our hands, letting one rest gently on Neal's shoulder as she turns to leave. But she surprises us with a request.

"Before I go, I would like to speak to you two, if I may, about something quite important," she says to me and you, waiting for a response.

You nod and we both stand, following her out of the room and into the hallway. Glinda looks ragged, exhausted, heartbroken. I understand. She steels herself, breathes deeply as she crosses her arms protectively over her chest, and then she speaks.

"I am in mourning for Zelena. I loved her so much and wanted to spend my life with her. That changed when I was taken away from her. I thought for years that I was lost from her and we would never be reunited. And then seeing her again brought so much more hope and light into my life, until I found out what she had done. She found a way to redeemify herself, like she said she would, so that I could forgive her someday. But I did not think she would go so far for redemptification. Judging by what you have told me, she had no other choice. And now she is gone again and I must deal with her loss.

I want to go home to Wonderland. Oz was first my home, of course, and someday perhaps I would like to see it again. But Wonderland calls to me. Alice calls to me. She is all the family I have left and I want to be with her. I wish more than anything that Zelena could come with me, but she made her decision. So many decisions that led up to this point.

After I return to Wonderland, I would like to restorify the honor of the Hatter into the Worlds. We need someone responsible and capable of traveling and helping when needed. Someone who can make a difference without leaving destructive or altering impressions on the worlds they visit. If you would allow it, and if you think it is a good decision, I would like to give this honor to you two. You should decide who should be the next Hatter. Perhaps if your son displays signs of magical-potential, he might be a good candidate?"

"Henry?" I blurt, even though we have no other sons. Just wow, that's a big responsibility for a young teenager. Glinda nods.

You smile, maybe because the thought of another Hatter is a good thing, and that Glinda would nominate our kid, maybe you're pleased. "Henry is good-hearted and wants to do things right. He's a good choice, but even if he began displaying signs of possessing magic, he's too young to be flying through the worlds by himself."

Glinda nods knowingly. "All the more reason for Henry to be the Hatter. He has two excellent and well-traveled teachers to guide him about what it means to be good stewards of the worlds. Would you consider keeping the hat for him or for whomever you decide upon until he comes of age?"

My eyes flit around Glinda's person, looking for bulges or hidden compartments or even a bag, thinking about how the hat was destroyed and if maybe there's another one somewhere. You answer with a gracious smile and a nod.

"We would be honored to keep it. Thank you so much. But, I have to ask, isn't there only one hat? It was destroyed some time ago."

"Correct, and with it went the abilitification to travel using that artifact. But any magical portal can be transformed and retain its magical properties. I would turnify my slippers into a hat for him. Or a different kind of shoes if he so desired. But then he technically would no longer be a Hatter. It matters not."

"Your slippers?" I ask in disbelief. "But then you wouldn't be able to travel or see Oz again."

"Yes. As I said before, I want nothing more than to see Wonderland again, and my Alice. Someday perhaps, we could all travel together there."

"If that is what you want," you say slowly, turning to head upstairs in search of the kid. He's probably taking sword fighting lessons from one of the dwarves. Not a bad idea.

My mouth is dry and my eyes are dry, and I'm so exhausted. One glance over at you tells me you're feeling the same. This has been a long week. One more trip and we can rest.

"Okay," I say, moving close to Glinda and Henry and feeling you at my elbow. "Let's do this."

The pull isn't so bad this time. It's calm and concentrated, maybe because we're focused with power, well, you and Glinda are. I'm trying, but I'm not sure how much I'm helping. But this time we're not hurtling head first hanging on by a fist, led by someone unfamiliar with where we're going. No, this time, it's a smooth, soft landing by all of us, even Henry.

Wonderland again.

Wonderful. After our latest adventure, I'm still not so sure about this place. When we land directly at the lake's edge, Henry just about goes giddy at the towering, impossible castle.

"Wow, how is it standing? What's supporting it? Are we going inside?"

Glinda gives a tired nod and a somewhat forced smile before summoning the magic boats for us. The ride to the castle is smooth and punctuated only by Henry's questions about this place, which you field as best you can while Glinda stares ahead quietly.

Maybe scouts or lookouts have seen us and reported back to Alice because what seems like an entire population of the castle is there to greet us, cheering their queen as she steps gracefully from the boat onto the wet stones.

We follow her, a wide-eyed entourage, and try not to cringe at Glinda's expression as she passes her elated people. Hurt, regret, loss. It's all there, and I can imagine what she's thinking. It would be like something I would think if I'd lost you the way she lost Zelena. She wants Zelena here with her to celebrate the saving of two worlds, to celebrate freedom from oppression in this one and deliverance from chaos and destruction in the Land without Magic. She wants her love; she wants long-awaited happiness and another chance.

It's heartbreaking to watch her slip past her people, shaking their hands and embracing them when she can, trying as quickly as possible to reach Alice upstairs, her only remaining family. And it seems like we're celebrities here now. The people thank us as well, for helping to bring down the Red Queen, and I smile awkwardly, hating this attention. I just want to introduce Henry to everyone, wish them the best and go home.

The people we came in to see are waiting in the large meeting room where we first met the Red Queen disguised as Glinda. Ches, Pillar and Alice, all standing around the table and then rushing to greet us as we enter, smiles all around until Alice sees Glinda's face.

"Glinda, what is it? Where is Zelena?"

A single tear rolls down Glinda's cheek. Words are unnecessary as Alice glances at Pillar, who surely has his heart again, briefly before embracing the woman she has come to know as a mother. Pillar was right somehow, but he only missed on the location. The two who died would not pass here in Wonderland, but instead would die saving another world; whether intentional or not.

Glinda straightens and clears her throat, looks around the room.

"My friends, we have much to discuss later, but for now I must allow my honored guests an introduction and a chance to return home after their long travels and numerous battles."

Glinda motions to Henry and he joins her, blinking shyly at the group of people before him. "Henry, this is my family and my cabinet of trusted advisors, the people nearest to me of whom I entrustify and owe my life: Ches, Pillar, and of course, Alice."

Henry shakes each of their hands in turn, mouth gaping and probably going to catch flies as he meets the infamous characters of Wonderland. Lucky for him he hasn't had to meet O'Hare and the knaves and the Red Queen.

"This is the son of the two women without whom we would still be under the tyrannical rule of the Red Queen. Henry."

Glinda approaches us and Henry once more, eyes as hopeful as they have been. She grasps one of your hands and one of mine in her own and smiles. "I hope someday you will come back to visify, and when you do, Wonderland will be a much different, much happier place."

"Someday we will," you say. "After a much needed rest."

"Of course," Glinda nods. "And well-deserved. You have much healing to do in your own world. Before you go, I want to thank you for everything you have done, for all of your help, whether willing or not."

I smile at that, at the thought of Zelena so desperate to find Glinda that she'd do just about anything to get here. It's been rough, that's for sure, but it's always roughest on the ones left behind to pick up the pieces.

"Thank you for your help too," I say, glancing down at Henry. "For helping save Henry and my parents."

She nods and we turn to the rest of the group. Alice, stoic and quiet and fierce-looking as ever, except when it comes to Glinda, grins at us with a nod of that strange, white topped head.

"May you never end up in the Casinos and Circuits of the Worlds again, my friends," she says, her lip quirking up in an ironic smirk. A choked laugh escapes my throat because jesus I hope that never happens again. Not here or anywhere. "And try not to fall out of any more buildings, would you?"

And everyone can laugh at that, and thank goodness we can, because that could have turned out much differently for everyone. I'm reminded of that fact when you dig an elbow into my side. Ouch. Okay, yes I remember that it was stupid and I should think before I act. Got it. Now ease off the ribs, would you?

And when Pillar approaches us, embraces each of us with happy words of good luck and good fortunes, he turns to Henry and places his hands on the kid's shoulders. "I shall see you again, certainly, young prince."

At Henry's frown, Pillar grins. "Son of the Savior and the Dark Queen turned Light. I can sense the power hidden within, boy. Someday you will be a Traveler of the Worlds."

You and I gape at him. How could he have known that? Does this mean Henry has the potential for magic? But Pillar only winks knowingly at us, smiles mischievously and releases Henry, who looks as confused as ever.

And finally Ches, haughty most of the time we spent here, smiles a wide-toothed smile and bows that great, cat-like head.

"I hope to see you again someday, friends of Wonderland."

Back in the Enchanted Forest, brand new (sort of) leather-bound, magical journal in hand, it's what Henry decided the shoes should be transformed into, we land near your castle and begin walking towards it. _'Why not have another story book to record our travels?'_ Henry had said. _'It can be just like your journals, mom.'_ That's what he told me and it sounded good so we went with it, said goodbye to Glinda, grasped hands for our magic and disappeared into the portal.

I'm exhausted. You're exhausted, and Henry is brimming full with excitement.

"Did he mean I really might have magic?" You glance over his head at me, lips pursed. And it's getting more and more difficult to look over him because he's getting so tall.

"Someday, maybe. You haven't shown any signs yet, but Pillar has been correct in his predictions before. We'll see, won't we?" You say, ruffling his hair and ending with an affectionate caress of his cheek.

"Wow," he exclaims. "A Traveler of the Worlds. That's so awesome. When do you think I'll show signs of magic? If I ever do, that is," he adds hastily at the end.

A half smirk graces your face. "Well, you're the son of the direct product of True Love, a sorceress who is quite powerful, even if she doesn't know what she's doing . . ."

My protest is cut off when you continue. "And also the son of Rumpelstiltskin's offspring. I'm not sure that the Dark One can pass on any magic, seeing as Baelfire was already around when he came into possession of the dagger."

"I'm also you're son, too," he says slowly. "And you're the best with magic I've ever seen."

The glowing smile on your face is enough to melt my heart. He knows you've grown and developed into a mother who learns from her mistakes, a woman who remembers her past but no longer uses it as fuel for vengeance. He knows you're good with magic, that magic might just be good for you sometimes, and that you use it now for doing good.

"Thank you, Henry," you say quietly. "But I don't know how much of an effect my magic has on your genetics."

He shrugs, and I can just see the cogs turning in that scheming mind of his. He might not be blood of your blood, but he is certainly your son. That brilliant mind.

"So," I say, changing the subject into what might be dangerous territory for Henry. "I know we just got to the Enchanted Forest and you're just beginning your adventure here, but there's work to be done in our world still. What do you think about going back for a while, and maybe coming here to visit every now and then?"

His mind grinds to a halt and then catapults in a different direction as we get closer and closer to the castle. Frowning up at us, one at a time, he speaks slowly. "So you guys don't want to live here?"

Hesitation. From both of us, but you pick up the ball first. "Well, we discussed doing what Emma just talked about, returning to Storybrooke, seeing what we can do for the town and hopefully picking up the pieces of the apocalypse. The undead will begin awakening from their curse. We'll see if anyone wants to go back with us, and then we'll come visit the people who would rather stay."

"Like my parents for example," I say glancing up at the castle, looming high and intimidating in front of us. "They'll probably want to stay. But what do you want to do?"

He hesitates the same way we did a moment ago. "Well, honestly . . ." Another pause. "This is gonna sound immature probably, but I really miss the things we could do before the zombies. Going to Granny's, watching movies, video games, playing at the beach or the docks. Running water."

We both laugh at that. It's the kicker for us too. 21st century amenities are pretty hard to give up, especially when we have a chance of getting them back after everything that happened.

"I'm glad we're all on the same page, kid."

"Me too," he says and then his eyes go all sad. "But so many people will want us to stay. Grams and Gramps, Granny and Ruby and Belle and my dad. Hey, what about my dad?"

Oh. Neal. Yeah, I hadn't thought about him, and I'm internally kicking myself for it. He just lost his dad and I'm not even concerned about what he'll do if we leave. Well, he can come with us or not, it doesn't matter to me.

"That's up to Neal, Henry. Whatever he feels is best for him, that's what he'll do. And I have a feeling a few people will want to come with us to the Land without Magic."

"But what about Storybrooke? You said magic was weak there."

"It's weaker than it was, but not absent. We can figure out a way to make it stronger, I'm sure. And we can put the barrier back up if we wanted, so people would be safe from the outside world."

He nods, reaches out and takes each of our hands. "Okay. Let's go tell everyone, then."

So matter of fact. So decisive. This has been quite the ride, but it's not nearly over yet. And while I'll bet you anything my parents won't like at all that we want to go back, it's the way things have to be. But we'll visit, they can continue ruling this land as they see fit while we enjoy the nicer things in life. Like donuts and cars and the Internet.

Whatever happens, this little family we've made, you and me and the kid, it's good. It might be beaten down and full of hurt and pain and sadness, but it's growing and evolving and learning to love and to be loved and to do things the right way, even if the right way is the hard way.

So whatever happens, we have each other and to me that's perfect.

Rule #999- I know I said no fairytales, but to hell with it: and they lived happily ever after. 

The End

* * *

A/N - well, reader, that was it. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.

 

 


	34. Planning Artwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nautor Swan, Map of the Coastal Northeast (our traveler's journey)

[](http://s78.photobucket.com/user/cat_cutbirth21/media/TtW/swan%204.png.html)   
[](http://s78.photobucket.com/user/cat_cutbirth21/media/TtW/swan%202.png.html)   
[](http://s78.photobucket.com/user/cat_cutbirth21/media/TtW/swan%201.png.html)   
[](http://s78.photobucket.com/user/cat_cutbirth21/media/TtW/swan%203.png.html)


End file.
